


Never Let Dibella Near Your War Camp

by ms_katonic



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Bisexuality, Crack, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Enemies to Lovers, Forsworn, Hate to Love, Love/Hate, M/M, Markarth Incident, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2018-10-01 17:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 95,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10194752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic
Summary: History can change on a knife-edge, especially when gods get involved. When Ulfric Stormcloak goes drinking with immortals, the consequences change everything, both for him and the Reachman warlord whose city he's besieging. AU of the Markarth Incident, Madanach/Ulfric





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fated](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/272660) by Jasmine Walls. 



> This is very much a crack piece based on a bizarre idea that came to me on Tumblr one day. A Skyrim fic based on the hilarious webcomic [Fated by Jasmine Walls](https://mythjae.wordpress.com/2016/01/28/fated-3/), in which a brave warrior with his back against the wall accidentally ends up saving the day by seducing the bad guy. Of course, first I had to find a Scourge of the North, and a hero who challenged him at some point. Which meant I had to find some candidates, with interesting backstories and sufficient personality, who do face each other on a battlefield at some point... and I ended up with this crack pairing.
> 
> Welcome to an AU of the Markarth Incident, where Ulfric's voice gets put to entirely different uses, and the Scourge of the Nords decides Dibella's weapons might serve him better than his previous tactics. While it is technically Ulfric initiating proceedings, quite honestly the real Throzar Skullcrusher in this one could be either of them. One of them's a terrifying bloodthirsty warlord in dire need of a redemption arc, and the other one's the King in Rags. ;) As this is pre-Cidhna Mine, he's about 34 to Ulfric's 29.
> 
> Warnings for mentions of past rape/abuse/torture and for a starving city that's been under siege for two months by this point.

_4E 176, Mid-Year. Stormcloak War Camp, just outside Markarth, Druadach Kingdom of the Reach (formerly a hold of Skyrim)_

“Come on!” Galmar Stone-Fist shouted, shaking Ulfric by the shoulder. Ulfric groaned, rubbed his forehead and tried to shake the hangover from his head, without a lot of success.

How that couple had got into the camp in the first place, let alone got their hands on the mead store, Ulfric had no idea, but a Breton man called Sam and a blonde Nord woman in a very revealing outfit who was called Bella or Ella or something like that, with a pair of breasts so impressive, Ulfric would have had difficulty remembering her face even if he’d been sober all night, had turned up in his tent with a crate of mead and demanded his company. Somehow he'd found himself agreeing to a drinking contest with the man after the mysterious Sam had implied he wasn't a Nord if he said no. Ulfric hadn't been about to let that one stand, especially when Bella had been lying alongside him, arching her back and purring and whispering a big strong man like himself wouldn’t have any trouble outdrinking someone like Sam, would he?

He didn't really remember what had happened next, but he was in his tent in the Stormcloak military camp, he hadn't soiled himself, he was mercifully alone, so despite the raging hangover, he decided it could have been worse. And so the twenty nine year old leader of the Stormcloak militia staggered out of his tent, ready to see what the day would bring. The siege of Markarth was entering its eighth week, and the Reachmen still showed no sign of surrendering. Hadn't they been starved out yet? 

Apparently not, because Galmar was telling him Madanach himself had been sighted on the battlements of Markarth. The so-called King of the Reach had been notoriously absent in person so far, preferring to let his people die for him or have his witches fling their heathen spells from a distance. The fireballs alone had been a problem, but they'd been infinitely preferable to the blood magic. It had only been the power of Ulfric's Thu'um that had broken Reachman lines and cleared them a route to the capital.

Madanach's response had been to have his forces retreat into Markarth, and Ulfric had set up a blockade to trap them in there. The two sides had been at an impasse ever since. Madanach hadn't been able to get out. Ulfric's forces hadn't been able to get any nearer due to the fireballs and blood magic and raised corpses of their fallen comrades. Ulfric's main plan at this point was waiting for the Reachmen to be too weak to cast any more then go for the throat and Shout those gates in.

That Madanach himself was actually rumoured to be showing his face was too good an opportunity to miss.

And so it was Ulfric Stormcloak rallied with the stamina of a true-born son of Skyrim, his physical ability to throw off the after-effects of alcohol unrivalled even among his fellow Nords, making for the front lines, keen to get his eyes on Madanach, King of the Witchmen.

Alas for Ulfric, while his ability to recover physically from alcohol was unmatched, the strong otherworldly ale that had laid him low the previous night was still lingering and fogging his mind, subtly enough that he was barely aware it was still there. In particular, the parts of his brain responsible for inhibition and ensuring he didn't just come out with the first thing that crossed his mind were still very much passed out in his tent with a bottle of Daedric witchbrew clutched in their hands.

So it was that he had several fearsome epithets lined up for the so-called Scourge of the Nords as he approached the Stormcloak barricades, slipping through them and racing up the path to the city gates to where the Reachmen were being held, eager to get a look at his foe for the first time. Ulfric was all ready to taunt and outrage the heathen blood mage necromancing Witch-King.

But what he wasn't ready for was seeing the distant figure of a man much like him, if shorter, a man with blonde, shoulder-length hair with braids at the front, the same leather and bone armour of all his kin, gold circlet on his head and a wooden staff with feathers on it in his right-hand. A man with intense silver eyes and looking surprisingly well for someone who'd been half-starved in his own city for the last two months. 

The Witch-King was not in fact a ten foot tall Daedric blood-drinking horror that breathed fire, but a man like any other, and not an unattractive one either, and while Ulfric might under other circumstances have repressed that thought, the previous night's drinking had shut off the bits of his brain that normally handled that sort of thing. 

He meant to call the man a murdering usurper who the gods had finally come to cast into the bowels of Oblivion, he really did. He honestly meant to insult Madanach's ancestry, masculinity, competence and honour, he really truly did. He really, quite definitely, meant to issue bloodcurdling threats regarding what he was going to do to Madanach's city, people and physical person when he got inside those gates.

But what came out was something entirely different.

“MADANACH, WHEN I GET INSIDE THOSE GATES, I'M GOING TO DRAG YOU OUT OF THAT KEEP AND INTO MY BED, SO HELP ME TALOS, YOU BEAUTIFUL WITCHMAN BASTARD!”

Silence. Silence, just the wind in the canyon as Ulfric's own troops turned as one to stare at him, open-mouthed as they tried to process what he'd just said, and the Reachmen on the battlements all lowering their weapons and staring at him, looking utterly baffled… before glancing at their leader to see how he was taking it.

And Madanach… Madanach's eyes had widened, and then, to Ulfric's horror, Madanach's stance shifted from that of a fearsome warlord surveying his foes to something altogether less confrontational. The man had crossed his legs, leaned up against the stone parapet with one arm, the other hand on his hip, head tilted and _smiling_ , and if that wasn't a lover's pose, nothing was.

Ulfric was a feared warrior, veteran of many battles, survivor of the Thalmor's interrogation chambers, wielder of the Thu'um and at home on a battlefield like nowhere else. But he'd spent his youth as a celibate monk at High Hrothgar, emerging not even five years ago to join the Legion in the Great War, and the fighting had left little time for relationships. At twenty nine years old, his experience of romance was near non-existent. War, not love, was his reason for living.

Which was why Madanach grinning at him from afar with a come hither look in his eyes, giving the appearance of being a man all too skilled in matters of the bedroom, and not only with women either, struck fear into Ulfric's heart.

“Men, we're leaving,” Ulfric rasped, stepping backwards one step, then two, then without actually running or giving the impression he was fleeing in terror (he hoped), he retreated as briskly as honour would allow, although he had a horrible feeling his reputation was in tatters already.

The last he saw of Madanach was the infuriating, beguiling, enticing, murdering blood mage warlord shaking his hair back and smoothing it carefully into place, possibly even fluttering his eyelashes, although it was impossible to tell from this distance.

Ulfric had no desire whatsoever to see the man close up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Madanach for his part had been all set for a ritual exchange of insults, with a few choice ones on how he was going to rip Ulfric's soul from his body, enchant it into a sex toy and use the thing to fuck his parents with, before draining the blood from his body, brewing it into wine and making his underlings drink it. Maybe the threats were as impossible as they were unachievable, but that generally wasn't the point. He was two months into a siege that no one was coming to help lift, the bulk of his forces were here, or else cut off and impossible to organise, his sister was the only one he could reach, and her forces had been part of those harrying the Stormcloaks as they'd poured into the Reach. Which meant they'd either been killed, forced to flee north or were here in the city, starving with the rest of them.

The passageways had helped keep them alive, but their supply lines had been strangled to not nearly enough to feed an entire city, Keirine hadn't been able to get the teleportal spells sorted out aside from the kin-bonded spell, and while Madanach had a talisman that would evacuate him out of here to her side, he couldn't abandon his city. Not unless all was lost, and he wouldn't count it as lost until the Nords were hammering in the gates and storming in… but in all honesty, they were running out of food, most of them hadn't eaten properly in three weeks, and Madanach really didn't know how long they had left. Not long, he didn't think.

But he had no intention of letting Ulfric know that, and so when he'd come to survey the situation to see for himself how bad it was, see if any answers presented themselves, and try his best to raise morale among the defenders, he'd seen Ulfric himself approach and prepared the most threatening insults a Daedra-worshipping blood mage could think of. Which was a considerable number.

What he'd not remotely expected was that Ulfric, a member of a culture with a strong oral tradition, a strong warrior culture in which the art of the battle cry and taunting one's opponents had been developed into an art form, and if word was true, skilled not just with his voice but The Voice, had taken one look at him and lost his head completely. 

It was completely unbelievable, and yet, looking at the way Ulfric had gone pale and made as dignified an exit as possible under the circumstances, Madanach realised there was no other explanation. Ulfric Stormcloak, feared Nord warrior who was certainly winning this one, found Madanach, King of the Reach and Scourge of the Nords, attractive.

Madanach had never considered this possibility, but he'd bedded men before, and even bedded Nords before – well, one former Nord lover was right here on the battlements with him, wasn't she? Inga Fair-Shot, light-brown hair, blue eyes, same height as him, still very pretty even if no longer interested due to, in her words, not having realised he was genuinely insane when she'd first known him, and mother of his illegitimate son, recently acknowledged at last after his wife had been felled by a Nord archer in week three of the siege. But seeing as Queen Mireen had spent their eleven year marriage making his life a misery and, it turned out, the lives of their four daughters a misery, Madanach was hardly mourning the loss. Her death had been a shock, true, and it had necessitated immediate and urgent alternate feeding arrangements for the three month old baby she'd left behind, but Madanach could not in any way be called grieving.

So it was that he descended from the battlements and swept back to Understone Keep, his mind suddenly full of possibilities.

“Madanach,” and that was Inga, her recent promotion from assistant blacksmith living in the Warrens to one of his best markswomen (partly assisted by several others having been lost to enemy action admittedly) having emboldened her. “Madanach, wait!”

Madanach slowed his pace and let her catch up, not needing to ask what she was after.

“Something wrong, my dear?” he purred, slowing down as they entered the great hallway of Understone Keep.

“Madanach, tell me you're not thinking about it!”

“The enemy commander thinks I'm beautiful, should I not give it thought?” Madanach purred, feeling altogether a bit too pleased about the turn things had taken.

“Madanach, please tell me you aren't serious.” A heavy hearted sigh from the man who was part bodyguard and part captain of the Markarth City Guard, Uailon ap Uaiseth, his distinctive yellow eyes and silvery hair marking him out even among Reachmen for whom unusual hair, eye and skin tones were par for the course. “You can't possibly be thinking of taking the man whose militia are currently besieging our city into your bed.”

“I'm considering opening negotiations to find out what the Silver-Bloods and Igmund ap Hrolfdir are paying them and if they'd be open to a better offer,” Madanach said calmly. “If the exact terms of that offer are evolving as we speak, that's neither here nor there.”

“He's a Nord!” Uailon cried, throwing up his hands, before noticing Inga glaring at him and apologising. “Sorry, Inga. But you know what I mean. He's a _Talos-worshipping_ Nord! You just lost your wife _to his men_ barely a month ago! Your wife who was a descendant of Red Eagle, daughter of the chieftain of Karthspire and to whom you owe your entire right to lead in the first place! Karthspire will _defect_ if you do this! And others will follow!”

“Mireen is dead, and our marriage was dead for some time before that,” Madanach growled. “And maybe that was true ten years ago. It isn't now. I am Reach-King, Uailon, beyond any tie of clan or tribe. We are one people, we are the Reach folk, we are united against our foes. If I decide Dibella's weapons will serve me better against this one than Molag Bal's are presently doing, then that's my decision to make. What would you have me do, barter Eithne off to him instead?? She's ten years old!”

The other alternative was his sister Keirine, but Madanach would rather hand himself over to the Nords than suggest that idea. It'd be cleaner, quicker and less painful than his sister's wrath, and at least he'd be guaranteed a chance at the afterlife. When Matriarch Keirine, one of the finest necromancers in the Reach, got hold of you, your afterlife was most likely to be the inside of a soul gem.

“Who's bartering Eithne off?” And that was his steward, Nepos the Nose. A little over forty, already bald, weirdly long nose, famously homosexual, not brilliant as a warrior but one of the finest minds Madanach had come across and a most able spymaster as well as being Madanach's right hand, and likely determined to interfere with this one. “Madanach, not that the Keep wouldn't be quieter, but must we trade off your heir? Are things truly that dire, and do you honestly trust Ulfric not to abuse her in front of you then invade anyway?”

“It's not Eithne he had in mind!” Inga said, folding her arms, and really, the way his ex and his steward had become close friends was truly a troubling thing. Thank Sithis she'd not met his sister yet, although Madanach had a horrible feeling it was only a matter of time.

“Ulfric Stormcloak inadvertently revealed he found Madanach attractive, and now Madanach is seriously thinking of seducing him in an effort to make him change his ways,” Uailon sighed. Nepos didn't even move, staring at Madanach with no change in his position or expression… and then Nepos the Nose blinked once.

Madanach was in serious trouble over this one, he could already tell.

“He has revealed a weakness we were not previously aware of and I am considering how best to turn it to our advantage,” Madanach said, hands going to his hips, and not in a come hither way this time.

“How best to – Madanach, this is not an old war wound or a deep dark secret!” Nepos cried, composure finally snapping. “This is a purely physical infatuation at best! It is hardly the basis for lasting peace! And even if it was, the man is a Nord extremist who idolises the man who enslaved us in the first place! You cannot possibly expect the Forsworn to put up with you making cow eyes at a _Talos-worshipper._ Mireen's barely been dead a month. How are Karthspire going to react?”

“ _Don't_ you even dare mention Mireen,” Madanach growled, and Nepos did have the sense to flinch back at that. He was one of the few who knew what she was really like, after all. “And Karthspire were right in the way when Ulfric invaded – half of them died holding the line, half of them are here. Those that are still alive want this siege over as much as I do.”

“At what cost, Madanach,” Nepos said grimly and Madanach, on seeing Uailon was nodding in agreement and even Inga not having his back on this one, finally lost his temper.

“How about the lives of every man, woman, other and child in this city??” Madanach snapped. “Because if they get in here, that is the price we will be paying! They have us trapped, reinforcements aren't coming, we are _losing!_ Inga, you've got a ten year old son, and thanks to my wife's untimely demise, everyone in this city now knows he's mine. What do you think the Nords will do to him if they get their hands on him. Best case scenario, he ends up as a political pawn with his parents dead. Worst case scenario, they kill him in front of us. Uailon, your son's safe in Sundered Hills for now, but do you want him run down in turn once they're done with us? Nepos, this is the first time since they reached Lost Valley that they've shown any sign of weakness whatsoever. If we don't take advantage of this, we risk losing everything. Maybe it's risky. Maybe it's uncertain. But what isn't? We cannot afford to ignore this, Nepos. We cannot afford to have a weakness finally unveiled and not strike. Now if any of you have any better ideas, I would love to hear them, but if you don't, then I expect you to follow my lead on this, because the alternative is all our executions. Probably painfully and drawn out, particularly in my case.”

Silence, no one meeting his eyes, and Madanach at least had got his court going along with this, however reluctantly. The rest of the Forsworn would follow, he hoped. It wasn't like he was going to convert to Talos worship, or add him as an official deity. But Talos worship had recently been forcibly outlawed throughout the Empire, thanks to the White-Gold Concordat. A treaty Madanach hadn't been a party to, what with not being part of the Empire.

It was a very slim chance to save the Reach, and never in Madanach's wildest dreams had he thought offering the worshippers of the Reach's ancient adversary sanctuary would be key to it. But if it was that or have his city sacked and ravaged, he didn't really have a choice. The fact Ulfric was younger than he'd expected and remarkably easy on the eye didn't hurt either.

Making his way back to his bedroom, Madanach began to plot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“What were you thinking, Ulfric??” Galmar shouted at him, and the sound made Ulfric's head hurt even more. “Has the mead addled your wits completely?? Insinuating you're going to make him submit to you is one thing, but calling him beautiful?? He's a witchman barbarian!”

 _The Imperials think the same about us. The_ elves _certainly do._

Of course, Galmar's opinion on elves was barely above his opinion of the witchmen, in fact it was probably worse. Ulfric didn't care to discuss it anyway.

“Unless… it was him, wasn't it!” Galmar laughed triumphantly. “He did something to you with his heathen magics, didn't he! Ah, I knew it. Well, don't you worry, Ulfric, we'll show him who's boss when we sack his city, slaughter his people and paint Markarth with witchman blood!”

Ulfric couldn't help but flinch and whether it was the noise making his head hurt or something else, he couldn't say. Had Madanach done something to him??

He didn't think so. Ulfric took comfort in the fact Madanach had seemed as surprised as anyone when Ulfric had called to him. But to have done it at all… what had he been thinking? The humiliation burned, all the more for its self-inflicted nature.

_I will show Madanach who is the man among us. I will make him suffer for this. I will Shout him to the floor, pin him down, put my hands around his face and kiss him… what??_

Ulfric angrily hurled the mead bottle across the tent, letting out a roar as he got to his feet, furious at Madanach and the effect the stubborn usurper had on him.

“Enough, Galmar!” Ulfric shouted, face flushing, and hopefully the rage would hide the embarrassment. “Gather the men. We'll march on Markarth today, assault his walls, show him what we're made of! I will find Madanach myself and give him he- HAVE his head!”

Talos help him. But Galmar didn't seem to notice anything amiss, mercifully, and history might have remembered the next few days as bloody slaughter… if an illusion spell hadn't drifted into the tent, a small white globe bouncing along, winding its way between the two men… and Galmar spotted it first and dragged Ulfric away.

“Watch out, Ulfric!” Galmar cried. “Who knows what heathen trickery it is?”

Ulfric had reached for his axe, although Talos only knew what an axe would do against this spell… and then it stopped by the hearthfire… and it changed, growing and morphing and suddenly a glowing, ethereal version of Madanach was there, warming itself by the fire.

Despite the colour being bleached out of the apparition, it was an extremely good human likeness, and as ghostly Madanach lifted his head and grinned, Ulfric realised he was in a great deal of trouble. 

Shorter than him but muscled, and the fur and bone gear didn't leave a lot to the imagination. Slenderer and more delicate features than the Nordic ones Ulfric was used to, something not quite in tune with Ulfric's ideas of masculinity but still masculine nonetheless, hair falling round his face and those intense eyes staring out at him, a bewitching smile on the man's face that only meant one thing… trouble.

“Hello Ulfric,” Madanach purred, and Ulfric bit back an involuntary grunt even as he felt his cock twitch and grow hard. The voice was not a woman's, it was a low growl, a darkness to it that caressed his ears and promised pain, pleasure, everything in between. Madanach's voice had a danger all of its own. Maybe there was no Thu'um at Madanach's disposal but no one could ever call Madanach harmless.

“What do you want?” Ulfric said, gritting his teeth. The apparition just kept grinning.

“This is a sending, Ulfric, and a one way one – it can't hear you. It's an illusion, carrying a message. I'd like to invite you to a parley. Just you… well, you can bring five of your men with you, I suppose, but the discussions will be one on one. In my Keep. I've got some ale left that the last Jarl left behind – it's called Black-Briar Reserve? I have no idea if that's any good, but there's a bottle with your name on it if you like. Come, Ulfric. Come and talk with me. I know you're not here under the Empire's banners or a Jarl's banner. You're here as a hired sword. I'd like to know what the Silver-Bloods are paying you. I think I can make you a better offer. I know your men are being paid by the day, and I know they were hired to fight, not sit around idle. I imagine you're as tired of this siege as we are. So come talk, Ulfric. I'll be waiting.”

The apparition disappeared, the smile seeming to linger for a few seconds longer than the rest, and Ulfric barely restrained himself from reaching out after it. Black-Briar Reserve was one of the finest, most expensive meads in Skyrim, and that alone would have tempted Ulfric, but the thought of Madanach holding out a bottle and lying back on a bed, grinning up at him and holding his arms out to embrace Ulfric in turn, was sending chills down Ulfric's spine and his cock was straining in his smallclothes.

Gods damn the man. And if Ulfric didn't reply, he'd likely send another, and another, and perhaps one would turn up at night and crawl into bed, whispering filth in his ear until Ulfric gave in.

Ulfric gave a frustrated roar and kicked a nearby table over, sending books flying.

“Patience, Ulfric,” Galmar growled, placing a hand on Ulfric's arm to restrain him. “We'll sack his city and make the man pay. That I promise. In the meantime, don't let him get to you.”

“He's right about the men though. They grow impatient,” Ulfric said, not liking admitting Madanach saw things more clearly than he'd thought. 

“Then we'd better plan an assault, hadn't we!” Galmar laughed… and then his laughter died as he saw Ulfric's expression. “Ulfric. You're not seriously thinking of meeting him? The whole thing is a trap.”

The whole thing was going to prey on Ulfric's mind until he gave in, taunting him with what he might be missing out on. And if he really did sack Markarth, Madanach would never be his.

Ulfric hadn't hated anyone this much since Elenwen. And yet it wasn't the same. Madanach was taunting him, yes, but Ulfric didn't sense quite the same agenda in his case. Also Ulfric wasn't a prisoner. Ulfric could walk away quite easily. 

Except it would involve admitting defeat, and Ulfric was never going to do that. And yet the thought of invading in force no longer appealed either. It was no longer about conquering Markarth and driving the Witchmen out. It was about conquering one particular witchman, and hang the rest of the city. 

That could be accomplished as easily by talking as by fighting. Some said there was no difference, only in the weapon you used. Words were weapons – the Greybeards had taught him that.

A one on one fight then, using weapons other than their axes. Ulfric could handle that.

“I'm going,” Ulfric decided. “And you may enter the city with me, but the negotiations will be held in private. Just him and me.”

“You cannot be serious!” Galmar cried. “He's probably going to try and murder you as soon as you walk in that front gate.”

“He's welcome to try,” Ulfric said, reaching for his axe. “I don't think he will succeed. Galmar.” He finished fastening his axe to his belt and turned to face his friend and housecarl, clapping his hands to Galmar's shoulders. 

“I don't fear death, you know that,” Ulfric told him. “None of my Stormcloaks do, we both know that too. But I won't lead them to their deaths when there is another option. Let me see what he has to say. Who knows, it might prove of interest. And if it does not, we can return and resume hostilities. Trust me, Galmar. His voice is no match for mine.”

“It's not his voice that bothers me,” Galmar said, glaring. “But if you're insistent on this, at least let me come with you.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Ulfric laughed, patting Galmar on the back. “Come, round up some men. We'll see if Madanach is serious.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Half an hour later, and Ulfric was arriving at the gates of Markarth with Galmar Stone-Fist and four of his scarier Stormcloaks at his back, all armed to the teeth and grimacing at any Reachman in spitting distance. The Reachfolk on the walls responded with icy stares of their own.

“What do you want, Nord?” one shouted down.

Ulfric folded his arms and stood his ground. 

“Your king invited me to parley, Reachman,” Ulfric snapped. “If that offer is genuine, let us in and take us to him. If not, we will resume hostilities within the hour.”

The gate defenders shared looks of contempt before one disappeared. It seemed to take forever before the solid metal gates suddenly clicked, and one swung open.

“Enter,” a Reachwoman's voice called out, her accent dripping with scorn. “But no funny business, Stormcloak, or we will cut you down where you stand.”

“Try it, witch,” Galmar growled, reaching for his battleaxe. Ulfric put a hand on his shoulder and made him lower his weapon. 

“Galmar,” Ulfric warned him. “We're in their city as guests. Be civil. There may come a time for bloodletting, but not under a flag of truce. Show them we are not without honour, hmm?”

“Bloody witchmen don't even know what honour is,” Galmar muttered, but he did put his axe away. And so they proceeded into the city, Dwarven stonework all around them… and witchman decorations, from Spriggan hearts hanging from front doors to goats' heads on stakes either side of each door, to deer skulls on the bridges. Ulfric shivered at the sight of it all. He could practically sense the unnatural magics radiating out of it. No wholesome people, this. And they were staring at him, every native of the Reach in the city watching him, hate in their eyes, hunger in their eyes, their ragged fur armour hanging off emaciated frames. Every single one was staring furiously at him – men, women, feral children hanging off their parents' kilts. Mercifully none approached him. 

The Keep appeared unchanged, apart from Madanach's Forsworn guarding it rather than Nord guards. They seemed a little better fed than the Reachfolk in the city but not much.

“The Stormcloak's decided to parley,” their escort told the Keep's guards, not troubling to hide the contempt in her voice. 

The guards raised eyebrows and looked him over, clearly surprised.

“Hadn't thought he'd say yes,” one remarked. “King's clearly not as crazy as we thought.”

The casual insubordination rankled at Ulfric. Madanach put up with this from his troops. And yet he was still in power, despite trying circumstances. No one was overthrowing him. Madanach commanded support, clearly.

The doors swung open and they were waved on through.

More Forsworn in the Keep, in fact the place looked packed with them, all with that same haggard look about them. Not completely starved yet, but clearly feeling it. All staring at him with that mix of desperation and anger, and Ulfric felt his men all drawing nearer to him for safety.

“Easy, men,” Ulfric murmured. “We're not here to fight. They would have gone for us if they were going to. We're safe unless Madanach gives the order.”

Which he might yet. But Ulfric didn't think this was quite his style. Too many people knew Ulfric was here under the flag of truce. Madanach was not known for his honour or respect of the rules of warfare, but he did have at least some care for his reputation. He wouldn't betray a flag of truce unless he had an excuse.

Of course, Madanach was also known to be as cunning as he was vicious, and wouldn't have much difficulty manufacturing one.

They brought him up to the Mournful Throne itself, and Madanach was there, looking surprisingly relaxed, and definitely healthier than everyone else, radiating some sort of heathen magic from the look of it. Legs crossed, positioned so Ulfric could almost but not quite see up the man's kilt, heavy-lidded silver eyes watching him with interest, slow, lazy smile on his face.

“Well, well,” that chilling, Daedric voice purred, caressing Ulfric's ears and sending shivers down his spine. “You answered my invitation. I wasn't sure you would. Welcome to Markarth, Ulfric. You know, if you wanted to see inside so badly, you could have just knocked and asked. No need to drag an entire warband out here.”

Ulfric hissed under his breath, infuriated by the man suddenly, and suppressing the desire to drag the man off his throne and shut him up by grabbing his hair, yanking his head back and kissing him until…

Ulfric dragged his mind forcibly back to the present. Concentrate, he told himself. You're here to negotiate with the majestic bastard, not mate with him.

“I didn't come here for small talk, Madanach,” Ulfric replied, raising his voice so it echoed around the great stone chamber. “You wanted to parley. Here I am. State your business.”

Madanach's eyebrows flicked up as he exchanged glances with the long-nosed Reachman on his left.

“My, we're hasty, aren't we? Straight to the point, I see. Very well. Your men remain here. They won't be harmed. You come with me. We'll speak in my study.”

“Fine,” Ulfric said shortly, motioning for the others to remain behind. Galmar put up token resistance, but did not stop him. And so Ulfric followed behind, following Madanach into the corridors of Understone, the very belly of the beast. And if that kilt clung nicely to the contours of Madanach's arse, that was no one's business but Ulfric's.

Madanach's study was actually very nicely fitted out – Dwemer stonework and chairs, but the chairs were covered with fur throws and a cushion for each, and mercifully, there was not an animal part to be seen, other than the deer skull over the doorway. The little dragon statue, possibly a shrine to some god or other that was not one of the Nine, Ulfric was sure, radiated magic of some sort, but it was out of the way at least. 

Madanach reached into a Dwemer cabinet and pulled out a bottle of the promised Black-Briar Reserve for Ulfric, and for himself, an unlabelled bottle of some green liqueur which he poured into a glass tumbler barely bigger than his thumb. Steam rose off it, and Ulfric failed to suppress the grimace of distaste as he saw it.

Madanach noticed and grinned as he sat down.

“Jenever, Nord,” he grinned. “Traditional brew of the Reachmen, fermented juniper and potatoes. The really good stuff has a little nirnroot added, and it sparkles in the light, glows in the dark. Never, ever store any version of it in metal containers.”

Ulfric shuddered at the thought of anyone willingly drinking the stuff, and Madanach laughed.

“Don't worry,” he laughed. “I won't make you drink any. Is the ale to your liking?”

“Mead,” Ulfric corrected. “It's mead. And it's….” _Heavenly, divine, perfect, thank you thank you thank you, I could kiss you._ “Acceptable.”

Madanach just smirked back at him, as if he knew damn well what he'd actually been thinking. Ulfric shifted awkwardly, keenly aware of his cock making its presence felt, wanting very much to throw Madanach down, oil him up and get inside him, wiping that damnable smile off his face for good. 

“So, you wanted to talk,” Ulfric growled, toying with his mead bottle. “Spit it out then, Madanach. I don't have all day.”

Madanach just leaned forward, practically preening.

“What about all night?” Madanach purred, eyes twinkling. “You called me beautiful, Ulfric. I'm extremely flattered. And, as it happens, single. Shall we?”

He inclined his head towards what Ulfric vaguely remembered was the direction of the Jarl's bedchamber, and Ulfric promptly slammed down his mead bottle, knowing his face had gone involuntarily crimson. 

Damn the man, but while he'd suspected something like this might happen, he'd not expected the man to be so damn _brazen_ about it. Even if the idea of finding something else for Madanach's mouth to do did appeal.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!” Ulfric roared, getting to his feet and preparing to walk out. “I am NOT sharing a bed with you, witchman!”

Ulfric had definitely not anticipated the sad pouting expression that had suddenly materialised on Madanach's face and which made Ulfric feel twinges of what he was sure was not guilt. Or regret. Definitely not either of those.

“Stop that,” Ulfric warned him. “I am wise to your tricks, witch.”

Madanach's pout only deepened… and then Madanach knocked back his jenever, downed the whole thing in one and reverted his face back to a more serious expression.

“All right then, if you're not comfortable discussing matters of the bedroom, I will leave it… for now,” Madanach said, shrugging as he indicated for Ulfric to sit back down. “Might we instead turn to the matter of the armed force you currently have camped out on my doorstep, hamstringing my supply lines?”

Ulfric sat back down, at least somewhat intrigued to hear what Madanach had to say. So far, recent revelations about Ulfric's sexual preferences aside, Madanach was not the one with all the cards here. Which meant Ulfric supposed he had nothing to lose by at least listening to the man.

“I have a job to do, Madanach,” Ulfric said, taking a sip of what was really quite good mead. Dead Jarl Hrolfdir's mead, which took the shine off somewhat… but not enough to stop Ulfric drinking it. Not the Black-Briar Reserve. “I was hired to reclaim the Reach for its rightful ruler and for Skyrim. That's what I intend to do.”

To his surprise, Madanach's grin actually broadened.

“You _are_ being hired as a mercenary, I knew it! Now, you're not a Jarl yourself, are you? Your father is. You're the son of Jarl Stormcloak of… somewhere cold and northern.”

“Jarl Hoag Stormcloak of Windhelm is my father, and you leave him out of this,” Ulfric growled. “He's got nothing to do with you, or with this. The true Jarl of the Reach has hired me.”

“Has he?” Madanach asked, raising an eyebrow. “He's a boy in his teens, Ulfric, and his wealth is all here in the Reach. I'd wager it's not him funding this, it's his Silver-Blood backers who want their mines back. I imagine they've promised you a generous portion of their lost wealth if you oust me, hmm? And they approached you because not only are you a formidable fighter, you can use your father's coin to fund all this, because I know damn well they've got nothing to pay you with up front, and a two month siege can't come cheap.”

“They've promised me something more than coin, Madanach!” Ulfric snapped, not really willing to think about how much of his father's coin he was having to spend on this so far fruitless venture. “They have promised me a gift you'll never appreciate.”

“Try me,” Madanach said, pouring himself another jenever shot. Ulfric knocked back another mouthful of mead and leaned forward, folding his hands on the table.

“Talos-worship,” Ulfric told him smugly. “We do this for the Jarl, we get to live here and worship Talos under his auspices. Since the end of the war, freedom to do that is worth more than any amount of coin.”

Madanach's eyebrows shot up, and he toyed with his tumbler, frowning as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Talos is not well thought of by us Reachmen, and I think you know that,” Madanach mused. “But nor is having a company of violent mercenaries camped on our doorstep. And I don't think the situation is to your advantage either. You think you're to be paid with a treasure worth more than coin? I think they're writing you an IOU they can't cash. You'll be living here and swearing fealty to Jarl Igmund, correct? Who'll be swearing his fealty to the High King of Skyrim – Istlod, isn't it?”

“We're Nords,” Ulfric said shortly. “We're loyal to our King. What of it?”

“King Istlod is and remains loyal to Emperor Titus Mede, who just signed a treaty forbidding the worship of Talos throughout his Empire,” Madanach said, starting to look unbearably smug. “As soon as his new Thalmor friends learn of this arrangement, they'll be accusing him of a treaty breach. He'll have to do something about it or the war's back on. I don't think anyone in the Empire has the stomach for another war with the Dominion, do you? Your free worship of Talos is going to last about five minutes before the Legion turn up to arrest you. You're going to end up being bailed out by your da and sent home in disgrace. Your men are probably going to end up in the Thalmor's dungeons. I'll let you contemplate that for a bit.”

Ulfric tightened his grip, growling at Madanach, suddenly furious at the man, outraged and angry and… The Thalmor had promised. Elenwen had promised. She'd come to him, purring away and telling him the Empire would be very interested to learn he'd been the one to sell out their capital city to Aldmeri armies, wouldn't they? But not to worry. A job offer would be coming his way from the dispossessed teenage Jarl of the Reach very soon. He'd be wise to take it. And as a personal favour, if Ulfric were to demand that the young Jarl allowed him and his followers to live in the Reach and worship Talos under his rule, Elenwen would pull strings in the Thalmor and ensure they turned a blind eye. After all, the Thalmor owed him a great debt, didn't they?

He'd yelled abuse at the elven bitch and told her to get out of his sight. She'd laughed and left, telling him not to forget her. As if he could. But her words had stayed with him, thoughts of the laughing harpy churning in his brain, and he realised the Thalmor did owe him, didn't they? Perhaps this could work. So he'd daringly named that as part of the price, and Jarl Igmund and his uncle had been desperate enough to agree, much to his surprise. And so here he was.

Except Madanach's words had hit home, and the scenario he described seemed all too plausible, and he only had an unwitnessed promise from Elenwen that the Thalmor actually would let this exception stand and how much did he trust the elf, really?

Deep down, he knew the answer to that one, and for the first time, doubt began to creep in. Was this going to work? Or was it going to go horribly wrong, even if he won? 

He didn't know. He genuinely didn't know, and while he'd risk his own life, he couldn't risk those of his men. He knew what the Thalmor did to their prisoners. No Nord feared death, but there was heroic death in battle, and then there was the soul-breaking agonies of the Thalmor interrogation chambers.

“You had a counter-offer, I take it,” Ulfric said, desperate to change the subject. This whole business was starting to rankle, in fact the more he thought about it, the more tainted he felt. If Madanach might be offering a way out, he might just be inclined to take it.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Madanach purred, settling back in his chair. “Istlod has sworn fealty to Titus Mede… but I haven't. I'm not a vassal of the Emperor, in fact the emissaries I sent to Cyrodiil report they are being given the diplomatic runaround. No doubt Titus Mede wants nothing to do with me but doesn't have the resources to force the issue, else the Legions would be here in your stead. So he's giving my people the brush-off until someone else deals with the problem for him. That, for me, is a problem. But it could be an opportunity for us both.” Madanach leaned forward, eyes twinkling again. “I'm not bound by the White-Gold Concordat. You could settle here in your own little township and worship Talos freely among yourselves. We're not acknowledging him as an official god of the Reach, but we'd be willing to let you worship him unofficially, in private. If you swear fealty to me, and lend your troops to the defence of the Reach and stop harassing my people.”

Ulfric lowered his mead, not sure what he was hearing.

“Are you serious?”

Madanach nodded. “I'm serious. I can't stand Talos, would happily rip down the shrine and burn it if I could. But my kingdom is small and wealthy, two things that are deadly in combination. I'm short on allies and trading partners. I could negotiate with Hammerfell, but despite the fact we share a border, we're separated from their major cities by the Druadachs and the Alik'r Desert. It's not an easy undertaking. The Orc and Reachman communities in High Rock have been receptive but they're not wealthy and can't really help militarily, although some of the Western Reachmen have joined our cause.”

All useful information, and Ulfric filed it away for further reference… but Madanach must have a reason for sharing this.

“And? You think my men could hold an entire Empire at bay?” Ulfric asked, raising an eyebrow. “Your opinion of our military capability is generous, Madanach.”

“I'm not expecting you to fight,” Madanach said, grin quirking at his lips. “I need allies, Ulfric. And your father is a Jarl. If he were to learn that his son had taken refuge in the Reach and could worship Talos freely there, and that other Talos-worshippers were crossing the border to join him… tell me, Ulfric, how many of the Jarls of Skyrim worship Talos in secret still, and resent the treaty even as they enforce it? How many would find somewhere they could sneak their dissidents useful? Do you think King Istlod is among them, Ulfric? Does he respect Jarl Hoag's opinion, and do you think he'd recognise the Druadach Kingdom of the Reach and agree to respect my rule and the Reach's boundaries if Jarl Hoag asked him to on his openly-Talos-worshipping son's behalf?”

Yes. Yes, he might well do. Because the Empire didn't have the resources to force the issue, not without Skyrim's support, and if the High King made the decision to recognise the Reach for them, they'd likely be stuck with it. And where Skyrim went, the nobles of High Rock would probably follow, ethnic Bretons like the Reachmen who'd be happy to trade with their kin. Cyrodiil would have no choice but to follow, and the Thalmor could likely do very little about it. The White-Gold Concordat forbade worship in the Empire but it said nothing about the Empire acting to wipe out Talos-worship outside its territories.

It wasn't a permanent solution, and the Thalmor would likely start plotting to overthrow them… but it would buy them time, and looking at Madanach, Ulfric began to wonder if the Thalmor were actually prepared for him.

“And?” Ulfric had to ask, thinking this was perhaps a little too good to be true. “Don't tell me you don't have a price for this. You can't be giving all this away for free.”

“Of course not,” Madanach snorted scornfully, “if I just hand this to you on a plate, my people will think I'm weak, and you'll find yourself facing another Reach-King within a year, one who'll have carved his way to power on declarations of kicking Talos-worshippers out of the kingdom. And he'll do it too. Perhaps he'll get the Thalmor to help him out. No, I'm going to need a concession from you. An admission you were wrong, a show of conciliation, a sign of true loyalty and that you're definitely with us.”

Madanach had grown very thoughtful as he spoke, looking Ulfric over very carefully, and Ulfric suddenly began to feel rather nervous, certain urges making themselves felt again, except this time it wasn't the claiming and domination of before, but a certain nervousness, a feeling that he wasn't as in control as he thought and that Madanach the so-called Reach-King would be no easy prey, in fact the prey in this scenario might just be Ulfric. 

Ulfric didn't know how he felt about that, because in no way was he submitting to this witchman… and yet his cock was straining at his breeches, clearly having other ideas.

Ulfric swiftly pushed these thoughts right down where he wouldn't have to think about it, not ever, and returned his attention back to the negotiations.

“What sort of sign,” Ulfric said warily. Madanach hesitated, then picked up his tumbler and downed the entire thing in one, slamming it back to the table and wiping his lips with the back of his hand, and really that should not be as alluring as it was.

“Marry me,” Madanach said calmly, and Ulfric's entire brain just ground to a halt.

“What,” he managed to say, because Madanach had not just said that. He could not have just said that, because the mere idea was ridiculous. Outrageous. Absolutely, in no way, shape or form, had Madanach just proposed to him.

“You heard,” Madanach said, still sounding eerily calm, but his smile had gone and he was twirling the empty tumbler rather nervously. “The Forsworn will not tolerate me just handing territory over to the first Talos-worshippers to lay siege to my city. But they will buy that the fiercest Nord warrior in Skyrim turned up to overthrow me, took one look at me, fell instantly in love, repented his actions and agreed to devote himself to defending his husband's homeland. Which, I believe, is where we came in. So, Ulfric, how about it? Shall we continue this discussion in a more intimate setting?”

He had got to be joking. Hadn't he? 

No. No, he wasn't, and Ulfric realised with horror that he was deadly serious. Madanach had genuinely just proposed to him, with an offer of sanctuary for him and his Talos-worshipping followers.

Images of Madanach in his bed assailed him, Madanach writhing beneath him, wanton moans coming from his mouth as Ulfric fucked him, the King of the Witchmen with his legs wrapped around him, arching his back and begging for more.

There was nothing wrong with this scenario.

There was _everything_ wrong with this scenario. He should be putting this city to fire and the sword, not fantasising about having sex with its dark mage barbarian of a king. And what Galmar's reaction would be, he had no idea, oh Talos, Galmar. The mere thought of explaining this to Galmar appalled him.

“This discussion is over,” Ulfric snapped, shoving the chair back and getting to his feet. Madanach tilted his head, still looking hopeful.

“Is that a yes?” Madanach said, curiously. “Have we moved beyond words?”

“I. Am. Leaving!” Ulfric roared, pausing only to grab the remaining mead before storming out, not waiting for Madanach's reaction, wanting only to find Galmar and get out of this city of witches and heathens and heathen witches, and their heathen madman Witch-King, with his toned thighs and his exquisitely carved backside and bewitching smile and intense eyes that stayed in the memory long after he was gone.

Madanach watched him go and poured another jenever. That had not quite been what he'd hoped for, although what he'd expected he wasn't sure. But it had gone better than he'd thought. Ulfric was interested, he could definitely tell that. Obviously, he was having difficulty accepting it… but given time, he might start coming around.

The question was, did they have that time, or would Ulfric return to his camp, crush any feelings he might have and let his men talk him into resuming hostilities.

Madanach didn't know. No one would know until morning if they had a lifeline or if hope was all but gone. 

Madanach had a feeling he wouldn't be sleeping well tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, chapter one! It was interesting indeed plotting out the details of the Markarth Incident and how it worked, because on the one hand I wanted to show Madanach the competent commander, and yet Markarth's a fortress, the Reach's canyons are a nightmare to invade, the Reachmen have weird magic and know the terrain, and yet Ulfric triumphs and it's not even a proper army. So I ended up coming up with details such as the Thu'um being the only thing that broke Madanach's lines, and while Madanach is holding his city, he's being slowly starved out, and it's only a matter of time before Ulfric rallies his men, Shouts the doors in and the defenders are too weak to stop him.
> 
> I also needed to get into why Ulfric ever thought Igmund could keep his word regarding Talos-worship in the Reach when it'll be back under Imperial auspices if he wins. We can blame Ulfric being young and impulsive, Elenwen manipulating him and Ulfric naming that in the price as an afterthought and not thinking they'd actually agree.
> 
> I'm very proud of myself for coming up with glow in the dark Extra Special Nirnroot Jenever. It just seems like the sort of thing the Reachmen would come up with, and it's guaranteed to appal Nords. :D
> 
> Next chapter is Ulfric thinking all this over and wondering if he's done the right thing. Because Ulfric is a man who needs to believe it's his idea to do something. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric's the kind of man who can't agree to anything unless he thinks it's his idea... and he can't stop thinking about this one. What he really could use is someone to talk to... but the only person within miles who'd even begin to understand all this is the very one he can't stop thinking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one would be part two of the talks, in which both men have a heart to heart, find out more about the other, share their secrets... and spend half the time snapping and snarling at each other because gods forbid either just admit their vulnerabilities. Ickle Baby Eola's also got a cameo!
> 
> Warnings for discussion of past trauma and sexual abuse.

Ulfric was barely sleeping at all. It had taken him hours just to get to sleep, and then there'd been dreams, of Madanach crawling into his bed, Amulet of Talos in his hand as he dangled it over Ulfric, whispering to him, promising he could have it and wear it openly as long as he gave in and let Madanach do what he wanted with him, and Ulfric whispering yes and snatching the amulet before kissing Madanach fiercely… and then it had been Elenwen in his arms, laughing as she mocked him, telling him did he really think he would get what he wanted, that she would ever permit it? Of course not, and now he was hers forever.

He'd Shouted her off him, into a wall which had a weapons rack on it, and one of the swords had pierced her through the stomach… and then she'd morphed into Madanach again, who was staring at him, heartbroken and betrayed, before breathing his last.

The sight woke Ulfric at once, his heart pounding, body shaking, feeling like he was about to be sick. It took some minutes before his breathing finally calmed as he realised he was awake, safe in his bed, and it wasn't real. Madanach wasn't dead. He wasn't working for the Thalmor either. Probably. Elenwen wouldn't have prodded him into taking this job if Madanach had been one of her agents. Would she? And would Madanach really have signed up with the Thalmor in the first place?

Madanach hated Talos and used magic, and he'd rebelled at exactly the right moment to stab the Empire in the back, and if not for Nordic bravery, the Empire might have fallen. 

If not for his own weakness, it might not have got that dire in the first place. But Ulfric could do little about that now. He was here, besieging Markarth, with an offer on the table, an offer no right-thinking Nord would ever consider… but Talos worship. Allowed under Madanach's auspices… if Ulfric agreed to his hand in marriage.

Too good an offer to be true, even if it would mean publicly admitting he found Madanach attractive. And he should _not_ find Madanach attractive. 

But he did. In battle, he'd fight without distraction… but outside it, having now spoken to the man, it was getting harder and harder to see him as the evil enemy witchman ruler. Manipulative and cunning he might surely be, but Madanach's grasp of the politics wasn't wrong. Was he going to all this trouble just to be betrayed in turn?

He didn't know. He suspected he wouldn't know until he won and returned victorious. But by that time Madanach would be dead and his offer gone.

Ulfric wished bitterly that he'd never come to this country. He just wanted a fight, an honourable fight, with a foe who deserved it, and a cause that was just. But increasingly he was starting to wonder. Madanach was not a good man, that was certain. But it was becoming clear that he wasn't the all-powerful Scourge of the Nords either. He'd seen Nords among the citizens of Markarth, and a few in the Keep too. A minority but clearly not purged like he'd been led to believe.

Ulfric honestly didn't know any more. Breathing and focusing were not helping. He'd just wanted to try and do the right thing, get an orphaned boy Jarl his hold back. But he was no longer sure this was a good idea.

_Talos, guide me, what would you do. Am I being manipulated? Is Madanach right? Can Igmund and the Silver-Bloods really keep their end of the bargain?_

No answer. Sometimes when he prayed, he swore he could almost feel it, Talos guiding him, giving him strength, raising his spirits as he contemplated the right course of action. He'd felt it praying in the Temple of Divines in Solitude as he'd visited the refugee Jarl and the Silver-Blood brothers eager for their land and fortune back, or more precisely, he'd seen the bare alcove where a Talos shrine had once been and felt so outraged he'd not thought any further about consequences.

_Fight the witchmen and risk still not getting what you want._

_Side with them, get the right to worship Talos and tell young Igmund you're not avenging his father after all._

Guilt warred with selfish desires. Honour warred with lust. Ulfric closed his eyes and wished there was someone he could talk to about this. But who in this camp would listen? Most of them wouldn't understand. Galmar would tell him he was being ridiculous and that he shouldn't let Madanach get to him, and then get on with preparing to butcher the Forsworn.

For the first time since arriving, Ulfric didn't want to join him. Something about seeing that city full of starving people had rattled him, and he didn't know what it was. Something about Madanach – _everything_ about Madanach – had shaken him to the core. Madanach's words, slipping under the skin, even sneaking into his dreams, until he wasn't sure what was honourable and what was one of Elenwen's machinations, had got to him.

_I need someone with a fucking brain to talk to. Talos give me strength._

Because the only person within miles with a head for this sort of thing was… the enemy commander in the nearby city. Who probably wasn't a Thalmor agent, or if he ever had been, was being similarly set up or turned on, and likely was all too aware of it.

Ulfric wasn't sure about this at all, but something was nagging at him to do it anyway. When he recalled Madanach's face, Madanach's voice, Madanach's hands on his tumbler as he knocked back that witch's brew the Reachmen liked, throat muscles moving obscenely as he swallowed it down… something akin to that old certainty came back. 

_If we invade, he dies. I would… regret that. And he is not a man suited for captivity._ Sacking his city and dethroning him, then dragging him back in chains to Windhelm would just be asking for trouble… and besides, it felt wrong. It would destroy something in him, destroy what Ulfric most valued about him. Madanach was wild and unpredictable, a little touch of chaos about him, and Ulfric realised that that was what he liked about him.

 _I want to light a torch with wildfire and bring it home with me, not put it out._ He wanted Madanach coming to his bed and yielding willingly, sharing his thoughts because he wanted to, not because he had no choice.

Mara have mercy. And Talos forgive him. This only really left him with one option.

Slowly, carefully, he crawled out of his bedding and dressed as quietly as he was able, pulling on the bear fur armour he and his commanders favoured, before attaching his axe to his belt and leaving the tent, moving swiftly through the sleeping camp, his soldiers barely stirring. At least until he got to the perimeter and his own sentries looked up, surprised to see him approaching.

“Everything all right, sir?” one, Ingrid he thought her name was, called to him.

“Yes.” _No._ “I'm taking a walk. I may be a while. If I'm not back by noon tomorrow, tell Galmar he may launch an attack on Markarth. But not before noon.”

There, that should cover him. Not that he was staying out all night. Definitely not. And so it was he strode briskly up to the gates, only breaking into a run once the camp was behind him.

The gates were quiet, but there were defenders up on the walls, magelights glimmering on the parapets… and one saw him coming.

“Incoming!”

“How many?”

“Just… just one, sarge. No sign of any others.”

“What?? Get a magelight down there.”

Two magelights shot down, blazing up on the ground beside him, and Ulfric shielded his eyes as he stared up at the Reachmen on the walls.

“Where is Madanach??” he shouted up at them. “I would speak with him!”

No response apart from frantic and baffled whispering. Then a sarcastic Reach voice echoing down.

“Nord, it is the middle of the night. He is in bed. You had your chance to parley and you walked out.”

As if they were in a position to argue. But Ulfric found he respected them more for keeping up the attitude.

“I would speak with him, Reachwoman. You can either take me to him now and we resume talks, or I return in the morning for a renewed assault, and you can explain to your King that's he's fighting for his life when he could have been talking with me.”

More muttering, and then a sigh.

“Are we sure he's alone?”

A green spell flared and then an affirmative response.

“Positive. No one else but him. And that's definitely the Stormcloak in person. With no guards. And… he's not showing as hostile.”

“Bloody looks it,” the Reachwoman in charge sighed. “Ugh. He'll want to know about this, won't he. Fine, Stormcloak. We will let you in and take you to the Keep, and tell the King you want to talk to him. If he wakes in a foul mood and decides to sacrifice you to the old gods for disturbing him, it will be your problem. Hands away from your weapon and no funny business.”

Ulfric walked up to the gates, and waited impatiently as the gate opened, a candlelight hovering before him, positioned deliberately to dazzle him. But the horned silhouettes of Forsworn soldiers were there, one holding out a hand to him, and then he was being hauled in, a phalanx forming around him as they swept him up the deserted streets to the Keep.

The Keep's guards rubbed their eyes in amazement but did not hinder them, merely allowing the little group to enter. He was escorted to the throne room, and then one broke off, disappearing down the corridor that led to Madanach's rooms.

Then the wait, for what seemed to tick by like hours, until finally Madanach arrived, looking not nearly as commanding as he had earlier, hair unbraided, plain kilt as opposed to the rather more ornamented one he'd had on earlier wrapped round his waist, and nothing at all on his top or his feet… and strangest of all, a bundle of furs in his arms. A bundle of furs that seemed to be fussing. Why in the name of Talos did the King of the Reach have a baby in his arms??

It must be his. It would have to be, the King wouldn't bother caring for someone else's baby. Ulfric recalled the man saying he was single, but with a young baby, he must have had a wife at some point, a mistress, something. By the Nine, had she died? He hoped for his sake it was in childbirth and not combat.

Madanach approached, staring bleary-eyed at him, and Ulfric took a moment to really realise what was different about him. He didn't look anything like as healthy or well-fed as he had earlier. He looked thin and emaciated, just like everyone else – the King of this city was not getting the leader's share of the food.

“What in the name of the old gods can you possibly want at this hour,” Madanach said wearily. “Just count yourself fortunate I wasn't actually sleeping, I was feeding this one.”

Madanach was doing his own childcare and running a city. Ulfric couldn't even begin to think how. Only that he was becoming even less and less sure about having taken on this thankless job in the first place. But he was here now, and Madanach was going to want an explanation.

“I need to talk to you,” Ulfric said, wondering why his throat was closing up. “I had… questions.”

“Questions which you couldn't have asked me earlier?” Madanach snapped, those silver eyes looking even wilder staring out of that stark starving face. 

“I needed to think on them,” Ulfric said quietly, having the grace to lower his eyes. “Talos forgive me, I could not wait until morning. If I had waited, Galmar might have talked me out of this.”

“Galmar?” Madanach sighed. “No. Never mind. Fine. Come with me, but do not expect mead. We will go to my room, you will leave your axe with the guards on the door, then we will talk while I try and get Eola here to eat. I suggest you make this quick.”

So Ulfric followed, reluctantly handing his fine Nordic axe to one of the guards and following Madanach in, unarmed. Well, not strictly true. He had his Thu'um, and physically he was quite capable of overpowering Madanach in his starved state. Of course, Madanach also had his magic and all the Keep's armed guards at his call. Half-starved they might be but he was outnumbered, and he had no desire to see Sovngarde quite yet.

Madanach settled himself into a rocking chair by the fire, indicating a stone chair at the table for Ulfric. The scattered remains of a baby's recent meal of mashed potato bulked up with flour and the various utensils involved still covered the surface.

“Excuse the mess,” Madanach said, lying back in the chair with his eyes closed. “Feeding a newly weaned three month old baby is no easy thing, and it's certainly not tidy. Honestly, she's not really ready for solids, not quite, but her mother is dead, the wet-nurse's milk's dried up and we've had to kill the city's goats already. I've had no option but to start weaning her.”

“Is it working?” Ulfric felt obliged to ask, not really having given any thought to the Reachmen as, well, people before. He was surprised at the guilt he felt as Madanach shook his head.

“Not really, she's not digesting it very well, spits half of it back up, is underweight and undersized, and...” Madanach took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the baby, holding her close to his chest, and Ulfric gripped the table, not sure where this emotion was suddenly coming from. Bad enough he kept wanting to bed the man, this coming over all emotional on realising the man was starving, his small baby was in serious danger of dying, and it was all his fault, was seriously unexpected. He was a warrior, for Talos's sake. They were the enemy. He shouldn't care.

But he did. Damn it.

“Her mother,” Ulfric said, realising that the baby must have had one, and not long ago either. “Who was she?”

“Queen Mireen of the Reach, my wife of eleven years,” Madanach said, not taking his eyes off Eola. “One of your archers killed her a few weeks into the siege. Left me widowed, and four children without a mother.”

It was what Ulfric had feared, and it cast a whole new light on Madanach's offer of marriage, and Ulfric felt physically ill at the thought now, because what Nord of honour married a man knowing their troops had killed his previous spouse barely weeks prior??

Madanach must hate him.

“You offered for my hand with your wife barely weeks in her grave??” Ulfric cried. “Gods damn it, man! Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I have a city and my people to think of, marriage for a king is rarely about love, and my grief is none of your business,” Madanach said coldly, silver eyes narrowing. “But if you must know, my marriage was a disaster, I'm relieved I can just focus on raising my kids and not protecting them from their own mother, and they are coping. They're sad, Eithne veers between claiming she's fine and acting out, Amaleen alternates between crying and relief she can grow her hair out and won't get called a boy ever again, and Kaie's being extremely clingy and doesn't like it when I'm out of her sight. But if it weren't for the fact they're starving, they'd be fine. Eventually. Look, you walked out rather than consider the idea. Why the hell would this bother you?”

It shouldn't. It didn't. (It did.) It definitely didn't bother him that Madanach's kids had names now, and hints as to their personalities – Eithne the brash, feisty firstborn, Amaleen the gentle girly girl who probably loved being a princess, Kaie probably not much more than a toddler and scared Papa might disappear like Mama had.

Ulfric closed his eyes and realised he couldn't do it any more. His enemies had names and faces, personalities, likes, dislikes, and he could no more put them to the sword than his own father. He'd failed completely. Jarl Hrolfdir would go unavenged. The Silver-Blood brothers would likely turn on him. Whatever promises Elenwen might make would be utterly pointless. His only options now were retreating in disgrace, and there was no guarantee Galmar wouldn't lose all respect for him, take over the Stormcloaks himself and invade anyway… or considering Madanach's offer. If it was still on the table.

“It is your own affair,” Ulfric said, shrugging, although he couldn't meet Madanach's eyes. “But there is something I wished to know. Have you ever had dealings with the Thalmor?”

Silence, but it wasn't shocked silence, it was a very careful and considered silence, and Ulfric felt horror trickle down his spine as he realised the answer was yes.

“Did they put you up to this??” Ulfric cried, turning around and staggering to his feet, reaching for a non-existent axe. “Are you still working with them? Answer me, man!”

Eola started crying again, and Madanach carefully moved to shield her from him, at the same time as he raised his hand, fingers curling in a gesture that didn't reassure, although Ulfric had the odd feeling it was supposed to.

“No!” Madanach snapped. “I mean, no I'm not working with them, and do you think I'd be starving like this if I was? But… look, all right, if you sit down, I will tell you. Just sit down. Sit down, and listen, and we will talk. Is that OK?”

His voice had got more conciliatory as he'd continued, gaining a soothing, hypnotic cadence and for some reason, Ulfric found himself sitting down again, feeling calmer. Not calm, not exactly, but calmer.

“Did you just use magic on me,” Ulfric said quietly. Madanach raised an eyebrow, then shook his head, actually smiling.

“No, actually. Purely mundane emotional manipulation, that. You live with a vicious, short-tempered sadist for long enough, you get very good at it.”

Ulfric was reminded of the Thalmor again, of Elenwen's machinations, of how he'd turned pliable and submissive around her in an attempt to stave off the pain for a bit. Sometimes it had even worked, although she'd always been wise to it. But the pain always returned eventually. Ulfric eyed Madanach with new eyes, wondering just what he'd spent over a decade enduring. Not a question for casual asking, that one. But the nature of his own Thalmor involvement, that was something Ulfric wanted to know about him.

“You were going to tell me about the Thalmor and the Forsworn,” he said, folding his arms. Madanach nodded, shrugging.

“There's honestly not a lot to tell, Ulfric. I was already chief of most of the Reach when they came. And taking Markarth was always the plan. I wasn't born to one of the Reachkin tribes, Ulfric. I was born in this city, in the Warrens, where the poor and the sick, nearly all Reachfolk, live. My father was not a rich man, but he was a kind man who cared about his people. He'd spent his youth travelling among the clans, piecing together all the lost culture of the Reach, and he came back to Markarth to try and educate his fellows here. He might have succeeded too, if the Nords hadn't killed him. Partly for agitating the natives of the Reach, but mainly because Thalric Silver-Blood wanted my sister, and after my da was killed, he got her. Until she killed him, fled with the blood still on her hands, found me and we escaped with my father's writings. Ulfric, revenge and justice were always the plan. The Thalmor just helped bring it to fruition sooner.”

“They helped your uprising,” Ulfric said, feeling rage starting to crackle under his skin again, but who it was at, who knew. What he had not realised was that Madanach had seen his own father wrongly killed by Hrolfdir's men, or that his sister had been brutalised by the Silver-Bloods' father. It was not the version he'd heard from Thongvor, needless to say.

“A little,” Madanach admitted. “But the aid we got – infrequently delivered supplies of soul gems, alchemy ingredients, the odd scroll or tome – was nothing. The real treasure was the information. The real gift was their knowledge war was coming to Cyrodiil, that the Empire would be weak, and that if we seized the Reach, the Thalmor would look kindly on a friendly client state. So we brought our plans forward, rushed things. And it worked. For a time. And then the damn Dominion lost.”

“Lost??” Ulfric cried, glaring up at Madanach. “They forced the most humiliating treaty they could think of on us, stole a province and a god from us, and you think they lost??”

“They didn't win, Ulfric,” Madanach said, glaring right back. “And all their precious promises of support mean nothing without that. I've made overtures to the Dominion as well as the Empire, seeking nothing more than trade and recognition as a state, but they've just brushed me off. They're apparently unwilling to offend their new Imperial friends by taking our corner. And they've done nothing to help me since you arrived. I'd wager they're quite pleased to see me done away with.”

“Pleased??” Ulfric snapped. “If it wasn't for that damn elf, I wouldn't even have bothered with this job!”

Silence as Ulfric realised what he'd just admitted. There was a beat as both men stared at each other, Ulfric feeling the blood draining from his face and Madanach… well, Ulfric had never seen him look quite that confused before.

“What elf?” Madanach asked, carefully placing Eola in her cradle and pulling a fur blanket over her. “Ulfric? What aren't you telling me?”

“This is no concern of yours,” Ulfric rasped, getting to his feet and bolting for the door… but Madanach was quicker, closing the gap between them with surprising speed, both hands clamping on his forearms to hold him back.

“It's led you to bring your militia and a good chunk of your da's coin to besiege my city and kill Daedra know how many of my people, I'd say it's my concern!” Madanach snapped at him, and Ulfric lost his temper, whirling round and grabbing Madanach by the shoulders, flinging him down on the stone table, sending cutlery flying, Ulfric staring furiously down at the King of the Forsworn, about ready to kill him… or kiss him, either way would shut him up and Madanach would stop prying into his affairs.

One of those had a significantly better chance of survival than the other, and so Ulfric went for the kiss, fingers grabbing Madanach by the hair, not caring that the other man was wasted skin and bone almost, just caring about forcing Madanach down, forcing him to submit, making the damn witch just do what he was told and STOP.

Ulfric broke away from Madanach, slowly regaining his senses, releasing his hold on the other man, a fog seeming to clear as he looked down to see Madanach flushed and nervous and bruises already appearing on arms that were a lot more fragile than usual, and real fear in the man's eyes, and Ulfric realised that the offer Madanach had put on the table earlier had likely just been withdrawn. Leaving Ulfric with little option than either returning home in defeat or sacking Markarth and living the rest of his life wondering what might have been.

Or alternately just letting Madanach kill him and hoping Sovngarde still let him in.

Angry at everything just falling apart, Ulfric turned away, savagely pounding the wall, forgetting it was made of solid stone… until the pain in his fist and the sound of bones breaking reminded him. Gods damn it. Wincing, he turned around… to find Madanach there, having got up and approached. Wordlessly, Madanach took Ulfric's hand in his, Restoration chimes flaring and the pain fading away… and Ulfric closed his eyes and remembered lying in a heap, bleeding and broken at Elenwen's feet, and those damn chimes ringing as she healed him, kissed him and told him she'd be back again, same time tomorrow.

He wrenched his hand away from Madanach, shaking with rage and hate and pain and damn it, there were tears rolling down his face, what was wrong with him, why was he getting so emotional lately?? Was it Madanach? It was Madanach, wasn't it. Madanach had done something to him. Broken Ulfric's emotions and left him raw and bleeding and unable to stop crying and…

“Was it the elf who tortured you,” Madanach said quietly, understanding in his voice, because knowing him, he'd probably done the same to his prisoners before now. Which wasn't actually the case, Madanach hadn't really needed to interrogate anyone quite like the Thalmor did, Madanach had just guessed what might make someone traumatised by Restoration magic… because he'd experienced it being misused as well.

“Every road in front of me has _her_ at the end of it,” Ulfric rasped, head in his hands. “She set me on this path, set me here. I go home in disgrace, having failed, she gains from ruining me. I kill this entire city, I'm no longer fit to call myself a Nord. She wins. I side with you and I have no way of knowing she doesn't have a plan for that either. I don't know whether to believe you or her.”

Madanach took him by the arm and gently led him back to the table, sitting him down and then going to one of the cabinets. Ulfric sat there, shivering all over despite the fact it was warm, feeling more naked and vulnerable than he'd ever felt before, because he'd told him. Told the enemy commander his hidden secrets that he'd never told anyone, made himself vulnerable, and his entire mind was screaming at him to run, or kill Madanach or do something, anything, to be strong again, even if that meant razing Markarth to the ground.

But a small, quiet voice whispered in his ear, one that didn't sound very like Talos… but did sound a bit like the Voice of Kyne, that he'd tried so hard to feel as a Greybeard in training. 

He had not felt the Breath of Kyne in his ear for a long time. He'd heard Arngeir's dire warnings as he left, felt the disapproval, and despite knowing he was doing the right thing, he couldn't help but feel guilt. It had only been Galmar's company, and indeed Rikke's, that had helped him, and turning from worship of Kyne to Talos had helped him feel better about his choice. Talos had never abandoned him. Talos had urged him on, made him feel stronger, made him feel like a man and a Nord. And then he'd broken in the Thalmor's dungeon, helped Talos's own Empire fall, and the guilt at having betrayed another god had nearly killed him. Only diving into the fray, throwing himself into doing Talos's will, into reclaiming his Empire, had saved him, and Ulfric had not let himself think of anything else.

And then that damn Concordat had been the ultimate betrayal, and Ulfric had been consumed with hate ever since. Which he'd used to fuel everything, because stopping and thinking about any of it might just break him. He had not spoken of it to anyone, not his father, not Galmar, no one.

Until now. To an enemy witchman who detested Nords in general and Talos in particular, and probably had more in common with the damn witch-elves than any human ought.

But Madanach wasn't turning him away, and Madanach was guessing far too much, and Madanach was being remarkably sympathetic. Which Ulfric could not understand at all.

Madanach was coming back, planting a tumbler in front of Ulfric, and then opening a black bottle and pouring out a rich brown liquid that was not that glowing, sparkling poison Madanach seemed to think was the height of fine drinking.

“Colovian Brandy,” Madanach announced. “I like to save it for special occasions. Mireen and I shared it after taking the city. I downed an entire tumbler after she died. You, my friend, look like you need it.”

The choice of words took Ulfric by surprise.

“Are we,” Ulfric gasped. “Friends?”

“If you want to be,” came the soft-voiced response as Madanach ran a hand over his hair and patted him on the back before letting him go and sitting next to him, waiting quietly.

“Why?” Ulfric whispered, staring at the drink in front of him. “Why, after everything that's happened...”

“Because the Reach needs all the friends it can get, and because it sounds like you and I have had similar experiences one way or another,” Madanach said quietly. “Ulfric… tell me what happened. It was clearly bad. Have you ever spoken of it to anyone before?”

“No,” Ulfric said quietly. “It is my shame to bear. No one else needs to.”

“Even if not talking destroys you?” Madanach said, genuine concern in his voice.

“Words are weapons, Madanach,” Ulfric growled, sipping on the brandy. “Words can destroy.”

“So can magic,” Madanach said, holding out his hand, frost forming in his palm. “But it can also heal.” The spell changed to a different one, a strange blue light and as Madanach cast it, his entire appearance changed, and suddenly before him sat the strong and healthy man he'd parleyed with this afternoon.

“It's a lie,” Ulfric growled. “That's not what's real. You don't look that attractive really.”

“I do when I'm fed,” Madanach said, shrugging. “Just as I can make rousing speeches to raise my soldiers' morale even when our backs are against the wall. Words have power. What you use it for… that's the important thing. Silence is no choice at all if someone's welfare is at stake. That includes your own.”

“And if you turn out to be a Thalmor plant as well?” Ulfric asked, glancing up at the insufferably beautiful man sitting next to him. Even if it was an illusion of Madanach at his best, it was a good one.

“I'm not one, Ulfric,” Madanach told him, fingers brushing lightly against his arm. “I know I can't prove it but please believe me, I would not be in this state if the Thalmor were backing me.”

“I don't know what to believe,” Ulfric said, toying with his drink, wondering if he should drink the rest and take his leave before he went too far. If he'd not gone too far already. Accepting brandy from the enemy commander he was supposed to be overthrowing was probably over the line as it was.

“Well, how about we start with this then? Would you have any problem believing that the Thalmor are manipulative duplicitous arseholes who despise all humankind?” Madanach purred, and for the for the first time since coming here tonight, Ulfric burst out laughing.

“No,” he admitted. “No, I really wouldn't.”

“That's the spirit,” Madanach grinned. “Well, you don't need to tell me the details of this elf who hurt you with magic. But the bits that led to you turning up here with a bunch of angry Nords… could you perhaps tell me how the Thalmor helped bring that about? I'm keen to know more about what they're planning. Don't tell me you're interested in protecting _them._ ”

“It won't make sense without the whole story,” Ulfric said, resigning himself to the inevitable as he took a mouthful of what was really rather good brandy. “Listen then, witchman. Hear of the war you took advantage of.”

So Ulfric sat and told what he'd never told anyone – how he'd been fighting, led a raid, got captured, survived when the rest were slaughtered and been held for interrogation and torture for months by this sadistic elf called Elenwen. How he'd tried to hold out but one day broken and given her information – information which she'd later returned triumphantly and told him had delivered the Imperial City right into their hands. How he'd never forgotten her laughter and the realisation he'd sold out his god's Empire and how that had felt worse than the torture. How they'd let their guard down after that and one night he'd got out, run into a Blades agent who'd been staking out the prison and planning her own in-out raid, and the two of them had fled. How he'd kept the shame to himself throughout the war, telling no one what he'd done, and then gone home after, heard about the peace treaty and that he could never worship Talos again, thanks to the Empire he'd bled for, and flown into an angry rage that hadn't really ever stopped since. And then Elenwen had come to him in secret, dangling promises before his eyes, saying if he took this job in the Reach and asked his employers for permission to worship Talos in the Reach as a payment, the Thalmor, just for him, might turn a blind eye to one who had after all given them a great victory.

“She is lying, isn't she?” Ulfric finished. “There is no Talos worship gift coming from the Thalmor. As soon as we report back in, install Jarl Igmund on the Mournful Throne and set up our new home, the Thalmor will come with their Imperial toadies and arrest us all. Talos knows what they're up to. I want no part of it, but that bitch will find me and keep at me, I know it. Whatever I choose, she will find some way to use it against me. And here I am, pouring my heart out to you. Madanach, send me to Sovngarde now. Of all the options, I find it the easiest to bear.”

He had not expected Madanach to move nearer until he was sitting on the bench right next to him, and then put an arm round his shoulders.

“Not for me, it isn't,” Madanach murmured, one hand on Ulfric's cheek, and then his lips were on Ulfric's, kissing him rather more gently than Ulfric's had been earlier, and Ulfric realised Madanach's previous offer was not only still on the table, it was suddenly shooting up the list of preferable options.

Which was crazy, ridiculous, marriage to a Reachman warlord was not even remotely on the list of things Ulfric had ever considered he'd ever be doing… but the kissing was enjoyable, and Ulfric responded by pulling him closer and kissing him harder, hands entwining in his hair, Madanach in his arms, desperation and lust turning into a potent mix as Ulfric realised perhaps there might be a way out after all.

“Take it your offer is still on the table,” Ulfric gasped as he let Madanach go. Madanach nodded, seeming a little bit uncertain all of a sudden.

“Yes. If you've reconsidered,” Madanach said, sounding oddly nervous. It was rather endearing.

“You would really offer a sanctuary for Talos-supporters?” Best to be clear on this point right now. It was after all the key selling point for his soldiers.

Madanach sighed wearily, rubbing his forehead. “Let me be very clear on this, Ulfric, I would not be agreeing to this if my kingdom's future wasn't at stake, and I'm still not happy about the idea. But… if they don't harass my people and keep the Talos worship within the land I give you… you and yours can worship Talos among yourselves. Just don't preach his worship to my people. They will not appreciate it. And if the Reach is attacked, you're to help defend it.”

Ulfric nodded. Never let it be said Nords were cowards, to hide behind another's protection. If this was to work, they would need to be in it together. Madanach's causes would need to become his.

He stroked Madanach's face, thinking all this over, and thinking this perhaps could work. Maybe.

“My father will need some convincing, I fear,” Ulfric said, wondering somewhat guiltily how his father was going to react. He remembered a kind, understanding man from his childhood, a man who was deeply saddened to lose his son to the Greybeards but still proud of him… and a man who'd been pleased to see his son return and yet saddened by what that meant, and who'd worried when he'd left to go to war and seen more than Ulfric liked when he returned. What he'd think of Ulfric throwing in his lot with the Reachmen, Ulfric couldn't tell. But there was one thing that bothered Ulfric.

“I'm the son of a Jarl and have no siblings,” Ulfric said, pondering how Madanach might resolve this one. “If I never return, the people will choose another Jarl on my father's death… but we've ruled Windhelm for generations. I would not see it pass out of my family. How were you thinking of providing me with heirs?”

Silence, as if Madanach knew damn well how to answer this question… he just didn't want to. He was staring back at Ulfric, not liking this at all… but he resigned himself to the inevitable.

“I spoke of four Reach-child daughters by my wife,” Madanach said quietly. “But they're not my only kids. I have another, I only just acknowledged him. His mother's a Nord. He's ten years old, I had a fling with a Nord woman who I met while… well, I was leading a patrol, we were attacked, the others were killed, I narrowly survived but was hurt badly, too delirious to heal myself. She found me and nursed me back to health. I wasn't used to being treated kindly by Nords. Nature took its course… but I was betrothed to the chief's daughter, I knew I couldn't stay. So we parted, and I never saw her again until I took Markarth. I didn't know there'd been a child. I couldn't do much directly for him but after Mireen was killed, I took the risk of bringing Inga and Argis to the Keep. Days later, I was admitting to people I was his father. Now half the city knows. He can't inherit the Mournful Throne because of his Nord blood. But he could inherit your city. If you're good to my kids and don't abuse them and they like you… Argis might be willing to be your heir. But you do have to win him over. Also his mother is alive. You need to be nice to her too. Same goes for all my court. You won't be King here, Ulfric. They'll treat you with respect but you are not their leader.”

Which was going to take some getting used to, and Ulfric felt it grating on him already… but he'd have free Talos-worship for himself, his men, for any Nords who joined them. Was it a price worth paying?

Ulfric looked at Madanach, thought of Madanach's children calling him father too… thought of a son and heir of his own. Thought of Madanach in his bed, and perhaps he'd be the all-powerful King of the Reach to everyone else, but in bed, who knew. The thought of Madanach coming to him at night and turning from domineering warlord to submissive lover was truly an arousing thought. Of course, Ulfric had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy.

“And one more thing,” Madanach added, with a tone of voice that boded ill for Ulfric, almost as if he knew that this would not go over well.

“What,” Ulfric said, narrowing his eyes. “I am not going to like this, am I.”

“No, but I think it's important,” Madanach said, steeling himself. “You need to talk to someone. A mindhealer. Either one of my people, or alternately I think the Temple of Dibella has a ministry for trauma survivors… Ulfric. No. Don't even… I'm warning you. Don't you even dare raise your voice to me-”

“I DO NOT NEED TO TALK TO ANYONE!” Ulfric roared, finally losing his temper. “THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME! WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM, SOME SORT OF PATHETIC MILK-DRINKER WHO NEEDS A FUCKING PRIEST TO HOLD HIS HAND – umph!”

Madanach had lost his patience and cast a Muffle spell on Ulfric.

“THAT!” Madanach snapped. “THAT is what I am talking about, Ulfric. Any emotion that you don't like, anything you think is an admission of weakness, and you just turn into a nightmare to be around. No, DON'T you give me that look, I spent ELEVEN FUCKING YEARS dealing with this sort of crap from Mireen, neither I nor my kids are putting up with this again because SOMEONE has no outlets for his emotions other than shouting, punching something or someone, or turning to drink!”

Ulfric was mouthing abuse back at Madanach, and the Muffle spell was likely a good thing, because the words looked rather like 'damn witchman' and 'how dare you' and 'my emotions are my own damn business, not yours' and 'you get this spell off me RIGHT NOW or I swear to Talos I will…'

A knock on the door, and Uailon's voice could clearly be heard. Clearly the shouting had attracted attention.

“Madanach! Are you all right in there??”

“Yes!” Madanach called back, not able to keep the weariness out of his voice. “We're reaching the end of negotiations, just a few final sticking points...”

“It doesn't sound like it, it sounds like Ulfric's planning to murder you!” Uailon snapped. “Madanach, do we need to come in there?”

“No!” Madanach shouted, vaguely alarmed at the thought. Just him and Ulfric, and he thought he might just be able to turn this around. Ulfric had warmed to him, opened up to him, showed vulnerabilities… except now he was in real danger of shutting down, and if Uailon and Nepos started intervening, Ulfric would clam up completely. And then this fragile accord would shatter, it'd be back to fighting, and it just struck Madanach as such a _waste_. He couldn't see Ulfric as some evil Nord any more, Ulfric was a fellow victim too. Killing him would be upsetting now. Madanach would end up mourning the bastard.

“Look, we're nearly there, we just need to smooth over a few fine points, Ulfric just can't let anything go without posturing about it -mmh!”

Ulfric had pressed himself up against Madanach's back, cock pressing into his backside, arms around him, one hand on Madanach's chest, and the other snaking forward to cup his privates through his kilt.

“Witch, if you cast your heathen magic on me again, I will be left with no option but to exact punishment,” Ulfric growled in his ear, and that honestly shouldn't sound as arousing as it did, but by Sithis, Ulfric's voice sent signals straight to his cock.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Madanach gasped quietly. “I'm just going to do it again if that's the effect.”

Ulfric heard the words, felt Madanach's cock getting harder at his touch, realised Madanach was kinkier than he'd thought, and promptly let him go, grimacing.

“You are impossible!” Ulfric roared, letting Madanach go and walking off, hands raised in surrender. Madanach couldn't quite suppress his laughter… until he heard Nepos's voice on the other side of the door.

“Come on, Uailon, let's leave them to their alpha-maling. Clearly they are at the stage of negotiations requiring posturing and demonstrating their masculinity, and if Sirrah Stormcloak's declaring Madanach's impossible to deal with, they're clearly getting to know each other rather well.”

“You don't have to know him very well to know that!” Uailon snorted. “Very well, Madanach, we'll withdraw. But any sound of either magic or violence and we are coming in after you.”

“Thank you,” Madanach called, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. As his steward and bodyguard retreated, Madanach returned his attention to Ulfric, who'd sat down in Madanach's chair by the fire, elbow on the arm of the chair, resting his head on his hand, looking utterly bored… and jostling Eola in his other arm.

“She was fussing,” Ulfric said shrugging. “She is calmer now.”

Eola didn't cry much, never had, but hunger had robbed her of the energy to kick up too much of a fuss. The noise had clearly bothered her… but not as much as a potentially angry Nord with his precious baby in his arms bothered Madanach.

“Give her back to me,” Madanach rasped, suddenly no longer laughing. Ulfric actually raised an eyebrow.

“So. You don't trust me with your children. Interesting.”

“You're _besieging my city!_ ” Madanach hissed. “You have me over a barrel and you know it, and you sit there, with my _child_ in your arms and you expect me to be reasonable??”

Ulfric remained silent, watching carefully, his expression unreadable… and then he held Eola out to him. Madanach wasted no time snatching her from his arms and clutching her to him.

“I got you, little one,” Madanach whispered. “Daddy's got you. Hush, little one, it's all right, I won't let them hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her!” Ulfric sighed, exasperated. “Do you really think I'm so violent I'd hurt a baby?”

“I don't know!” Madanach cried. “My sole experience of you has been that you're a vicious mercenary here to recreate Talos's exploits, and the only reason we're here talking is because… because… gods, I don't know. You took some sort of liking to me for reasons I can't even begin to imagine, and I was just desperate enough to let you in. But I don't trust you're entirely sincere yet and I will not risk my kids.”

“But you'll risk yourself,” Ulfric noted, and Madanach clutched Eola to his chest, not wanting to admit this next bit… but not having a choice.

“If it saves my people, it is worth it,” Madanach said bitterly. “What the hell, you can't be worse than Mireen.”

He settled himself in the rocking chair, feeling defeated. Ulfric could basically do whatever the fuck he wanted, couldn't he. No point pretending. This was essentially a surrender, wasn't it.

So it was he was surprised to see Ulfric rise from his seat and kneel next to Madanach, one hand placed on his knee.

“You still think I'm powerful and dangerous,” Ulfric said curiously. “Despite me telling you about what the elves did to me.”

“Aren't you?” Madanach sighed. “Yes, you suffered at their hands, but it wasn't your fault. You survived. You got away, even. You did what you had to. That it's left you scarred does not make you weak.”

Ulfric lowered his head, forehead almost resting on Madanach's knee.

“My weakness betrayed my Empire,” Ulfric said quietly. “My faith in Talos was not strong enough to sustain me and in slipping, I let his Empire fall. How can you be sure I will not fail you as well? You do not even trust me to be near your child unsupervised.”

Bitterness in his voice, and Madanach was no longer sure what to think. Only that everything had got _weird._ But he was getting an unexpected insight into Ulfric Stormcloak's psyche and weirdly, he found it fascinating. Carefully, so as not to jostle Eola in his other arm, he reached over and cupped the back of Ulfric's head in his free arm.

“Everyone has a breaking point, Ulfric,” Madanach said softly. “The Thalmor strike me as being very good at finding them in people. It _was not your fault_. We've only got this Elenwen's word that your information even helped them. And we already agreed the Thalmor are manipulative arseholes who cannot be trusted. We've all got weaknesses, Ulfric. The trick is to make sure you have people around you who will have your back and balance them out.”

Ulfric looked up, frowning and confused, as if this had genuinely never occurred to him before.

“Madanach, if I show weakness...”

“Your men will think you're human,” Madanach told him, fingers idly starting to stroke his hair. “Sithis knows mine do. You should hear the comments I get – well, you heard Uailon and Nepos, and just wait until you meet my sister. They still follow. And they still respect me. More than that – they care about me. Is it so different for Nords? Do you honestly think your soldiers never complain about you when you're not there?”

Ulfric didn't answer that one, and now Madanach had to wonder if what he thought was a false front to intimidate his foes was in fact what Ulfric genuinely believed about himself. If it had been, it was surely slipping now. Ulfric had never looked so unsure.

“I… need to think on this,” Ulfric murmured, as he got to his feet. “Talos, I need to...” He stopped, stared at Madanach with a very strange expression on his face… and then he smiled and leaned in, lips meeting Madanach's for a few brief moments before Ulfric let him go.

“Your conditions are acceptable,” Ulfric told him. “If it will make you happy, I will accept counselling from a priestess of Dibella. A Nord if possible. Some things only another Nord will truly understand.”

Madanach blinked, looking up at Ulfric who was grinning rather smugly and it slowly dawned on Madanach that this was suddenly happening. They'd reached an agreement. Doubtless there'd be further negotiations, but the big things suddenly seemed to have been settled. He was going to have to marry Ulfric, and Madanach realised that he had no idea what he'd just let himself in for.

“I'll withdraw my troops to Old Hroldan,” Ulfric continued. “Keep your people from harassing us, and when you've got Markarth in order, visit me and we'll talk more. I need to inform my father, invite him to visit. He will want to be involved in the marriage negotiations.”

Oh Sithis, there was going to be a marriage contract. Nepos would want in. Uailon might have an opinion. Inga might even have to be dragged in. And Keirine, oh gods, Keirine, his sister was going to be furious. And how did he even begin to explain that the whole Reachmen venerating Hagravens thing was not only true, but Ulfric's new sister-in-law was one?

“And when we have an agreement, I intend to wed you, very thoroughly bed you, and then you will be mine,” Ulfric purred, stroking his cheek and making Madanach very, very nervous suddenly. “And I take care of what is mine. Your kingdom will be my home, your causes will be my causes, your children will be cared for as my own would be… and anyone who harms you will feel my Thu'um. That I promise to you, and Talos smite me if I fail.”

Madanach shivered, his cock twitching, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to fall into the big Nord's arms and let him do what he wanted, Talos-worship be damned, in fact the idea of one of Talos's biggest supporters swearing fealty to the King of the Reachmen amused him greatly.

But perhaps he should think on this more in the morning. Perhaps after breakfast. If there was any food in the city at all.

“Then get my city fed, Ulfric,” Madanach whispered. “Open our supply lines, get us some food… and then we talk.”

Ulfric nodded and kissed Madanach's forehead before taking his leave. Leaving Madanach sitting by a fire with his daughter in his arms and realising he'd just changed the Reach's fate, and whether he'd be lauded as a hero who seduced the fearsome Nord attacker into changing his ways, or a traitor who'd just let Talos-worshippers take over, who knew. But Markarth was safe. The city would be eating in a day or two. No one was going to be slaughtered by invading Nord marauders. Not today.

He'd bought his kingdom a chance. He'd bought them time. If it was at the price of permitting Talos worship in his lands, and permitting Ulfric to do as he wished with him behind closed doors, then it was a price he'd have to pay.

Well, on a personal level, it would be no worse than living with Mireen. Rather Ulfric ravaging him than his city. It might even be enjoyable.

Cradling Eola in his arms, Madanach retreated to bed. The morning would tell the tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be everyone else reacting... and Ulfric and friends settling in to the Reach.
> 
> And the nice thing about the Markarth Incident never happening means that both Inga and Madanach's older two kids get to live! Nice, eh?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the morning after and both Madanach and Ulfric are breaking the news of the peace deal to their followers. Relief, confusion, thinking their leader has gone mad... and the Reachmen aren't taking it a lot better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this one. It's the morning after and here's everyone else's reactions to the, er, happy couple. Madanach's kids start making their appearances too!
> 
> And talking of which, the single most asked question on this fic I'm being asked is 'is Eola still going to turn out a Namira-worshipper?' This says something about you lot. XD The answer is, yes and no. On the one hand, she never runs away and therefore isn't hiding out in a cave leading the cult. But on the other hand, she sees a lot more of her aunt growing up. So she's still making offerings to Namira and practicing necromancy, but not in the same circumstances.

Ulfric had been allowed to leave the city unmolested, and Madanach had slept well for the first time in weeks. Eola had seemed calmer too, sleeping peacefully for once.

And in the morning he’d been woken by frantic knocking from Uailon.

“Madanach! Madanach! Get out here, man! What did you say to Ulfric last night??”

“I… don’t know,” Madanach yawned, picking Eola up. “We said lots of things. Why, what happened?”

“The Nords have gone away, Da!”

And that was Eithne, always keen to be into everything, insatiably curious and fiercely intelligent… and just plain fierce sometimes. 

“What??” Madanach gasped. “What do you mean, they’re gone?”

“They’ve withdrawn, Madanach. And they’ve left what looks like food and supplies outside the gates. What did you want us to do and do you mind telling me what you and Ulfric agreed on?”

Madanach couldn’t speak. Ulfric had kept his word. He’d even left food. They were going to finally be able to eat. They had peace. Peace at a cost, but peace. He looked down at Eola, realising she was going to be able to eat properly at last.

“You’re gonna make it, little one,” Madanach whispered. “You’re gonna be big and strong and your two das are going to love you, little one. This one already does.”

And so he got swiftly dressed and strode out to see for himself, Eithne, Argis and Amaleen deciding to accompany him and sure enough, Ulfric had withdrawn. Leaving precious, precious supplies behind.

“There’s three of them watching, should we do something about the- Argis, what are you doing up here?” Inga snapped at her son. 

Argis pouted at his mother and turned to the father he’d only recently acquired, and Madanach patted him on the head.

“I said he could, Inga,” Madanach told her. “If I thought there’d be any trouble I wouldn’t have brought any of them. But they’re really gone?”

Inga confirmed it was so, the main camp having withdrawn as the sun came up, taking most of the siege barricades with them. 

“Madanach,” Inga said quietly. “What have you done.”

“Saved the city,” Madanach said, staring out at what had once been a war zone. “You, and you, arrange a sortie, get those supplies in here and back to the Keep. I imagine those scouts will withdraw as you approach. Let them go, do not fire unless they do. I need to get down there, start organising this or there’ll be a riot.”

There was no riot but there were a lot of hungry faces as the supplies started being brought in. It took a calming spell from Madanach to ensure nothing happened, but as it was, the entire city started gathering expectantly.

The supplies were not enough to go round, but Madanach was able to get Markarth’s children and elders fed, and then messengers were leaving for the Forsworn camps, to bring news that the siege had been lifted and they needed any spare food they had available. Hunting parties were also leaving, to start scouring the Reach for food. And special orders had gone to Red Eagle Redoubt and Lost Valley and what was left of Karthspire to have eyes on the Nords, ensure they behaved themselves.

And Madanach retreated to his quarters, with one finally no longer hungry baby sleeping contentedly in her cradle, four older children playing in the rock pool, a glass of glowing jenever in his hand… and one Nord archer who wanted some answers.

“What have you done, Madanach,” Inga said quietly, coming to sit next to him. “What did you have to promise to get the Stormcloak to retreat. He’s a Nord warrior! The Nord warrior! The modern-day Tongue whose Thu’um fells all! It is victory or Sovngarde for him! He doesn’t do retreats! What did you promise him to make him think he’s won??”

Madanach didn’t answer, because the feeling of not wanting to talk about it was being compounded by the fact Inga had a right to know, considering he’d used her son as a negotiating chip. Damn it.

“Madanach?” Inga pressed. “Madanach, talk to me. What did you offer him? Are we safe? Really?”

“You are,” Madanach said quietly, not meeting her eyes. “And I don’t think I had a choice in the end. Our stockpiles of food are exhausted, we need supplies and that means trading for them. Hammerfell’s main population centres are on the other side of Druadachs and Alik’r both and they don’t trust magic users. The Orcs do not have food in the quantity we’re going to need, and everyone else is in the Empire that won’t acknowledge our existence. This might just be our one chance to make this work. Maybe the Empire hates us, but the son of a Jarl speaking for us, the presence of a place for Talos-worshippers to seek sanctuary, that might just have Skyrim accepting us. Jarl Hoag of Windhelm might be inclined to help if his son is making his home here.”

“You’re giving sanctuary to Talos-worshippers??” Inga gasped. “But… won’t the Reachmen object?”

“Probably, but if the Nords keep the Talos worship to their own settlements, I can probably head off most of the objections,” Madanach sighed. “Bloody Dominion didn’t bother finishing what they started, so I’m making best use of what they’ve left us with. In return I get advocates in Skyrim and fierce warriors to die in place of Reachmen if we’re attacked again.”

“That cannot be all of it,” Inga said, frowning. “What else? Madanach…”

“I asked him to marry me. He said yes,” Madanach said quietly, deciding to just get this out of the way quickly. “He actually seems keen on the idea. Lucky me, eh?”

“Lucky...” Inga gasped. “Madanach, you only just got shot of Mireen. You’re willing to shackle yourself to Ulfric so soon?”

“I don’t have a choice!” Madanach hissed, turning on her. “It was my city or me! He’s agreed he won’t muscle in on the parenting decisions. My kids will be fine. It’s a better deal than I had with Mireen.”

“And my son?” Inga whispered. “What about Argis, did you tell Ulfric about him yet?”

And here was the bit Madanach had been dreading. Slowly he nodded his head.

“Seemed only fair,” Madanach said quietly. “I can’t expect you and Argis to just go back into hiding. Not now. He was surprised but he’s accepting it. Only...”

“What,” Inga said, eyes narrowing. “What did you promise him, Madanach? Madanach??”

“He’s the only son of a Jarl, he wanted to know what I was planning to do about heirs for Windhelm,” Madanach admitted. “I… had no choice but to promise him Argis. Inga, I’m sorry.”

Inga was lost for words, staring at him in shock, and then she promptly reached for the jenever bottle and took a swig from it.

“My son. A Jarl. My little boy. Ulfric Stormcloak’s adopted son,” Inga whispered. “Madanach, are you serious?”

Madanach nodded, and he couldn’t reassure her on this when he wasn’t happy with it himself. It felt like the little boy he’d only just been able to finally take into his family was being ripped out of it already.

“If he hurts our baby, I will put an arrow through his skull myself,” Inga said viciously, and Madanach grinned as he patted her hand.

“I’d expect nothing less,” Madanach purred. “I’ve already told him you’ll be involved in all parenting decisions regarding Argis.”

“He’s a Jarl’s son, he’s hardly going to listen to me,” Inga snapped. “I’m just an archer, when all’s said and done.”

Raised eyebrow from Madanach, because that was something he could do something about. And he could hardly expect her to just go back to her former life, not now everyone knew she was the mother of the king’s son, and one of the heroes of the siege now. Reachmen did what she told them now. Veteran ReachGuard saluted her when she passed. Markarth no longer saw her Nord blood, they saw one of their best markswomen. About time he recognised this officially.

“Then by my right as Reach-King, I declare you Marquise of Markarth,” he purred. “It’s an honorary title, mainly because I just stole it off the Bretons and haven’t really got any actual responsibilities to go along with it yet. But I can promise you a nice new bow as your badge of office, your own retinue of guards, and you can have your own house.”

“What, not that creepy abandoned one no one’s allowed in,” Inga shivered, and Madanach flinched at that.

“No,” said Madanach swiftly. “The one next to Treasury House. Nepos had his eye on it, but he’s got the steward’s quarters, he doesn’t need a house as well. And you can have Argis with you – it won’t be too many years before it’s completely inappropriate to put him in with the girls, and I’ve not got room in the keep for him to have his own room.”

Argis currently shared a room with his mother, but at ten years old, he could hardly share with her forever, and Inga knew it. Going back to their old room in the Warrens was hardly feasible either. Not now everyone knew her little boy was the King’s son. All the same, Inga was hardly fine with the idea of suddenly being a noble either.

“You can’t just make me a noble, even half the Reachmen aren’t keen on your Nord mistress hanging round the keep. People are going to think you’ve sold the country out to the Nords! And just giving me a title doesn’t put me on a par with Ulfric, and we all know it.”

“You’re no longer my mistress, as per your own request,” Madanach snapped. “And several ReachGuard all glaring at anyone who doesn’t treat you right says they’ll take you seriously. I don’t think I’ll struggle to find a few warriors relishing the thought of making sure Ulfric and his crew don’t mistreat my people, do you? I need my people to realise not all Nords are the same, and you and Ulfric regularly butting heads over Argis’s care will probably prove the point. As will you knocking back shots in the Hag’s Rest and complaining about what that Stormcloak son of a bitch did now and what does Madanach see in him.”

“How do you know that’ll even happen?” Inga cried, and Madanach smiled.

“I know you, and I’m forming a fair estimation of Ulfric’s character,” he grinned. “It’ll happen.”

“What’ll happen?” And that was little Eithne, wrapped in a towel, dripping water everywhere, of all Madanach’s children probably the one that resembled him most, with silver eyes like his and short blonde hair normally grown just past her ears. “And Ulfric went away! You scared him away, Da!”

“Yeah, I… well, not exactly,” Madanach admitted, not being keen on lying to his kids at the best of times, and he had to tell them at some point, didn’t he? “I didn’t scare him off, we talked and reached an agreement. Part of that is him ending the siege but he’s not gone away, cariad. Come on, get your sisters and Argis, we need to talk.”

He had a feeling this conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant or easy, and he wasn’t exactly wrong, what with Eithne being outraged at the enemy Nord suddenly being her new stepfather, and Argis clinging on to him and crying that he didn’t want to be Ulfric’s little boy, Madanach was his da, not Ulfric, and Amaleen being upset because she’d wanted him to marry Inga, and it took a group cuddle, a promise he’d look after them and that he was still very much their father and loved them very much to calm them all down, and didn’t Argis want to be a Jarl one day then?

Argis pouted and glared and said Jarls just sat around all day not doing anything and being mean to people who weren’t Nords, it wasn’t a real job like Reach-King.

“Well, maybe you can be the one that makes a difference,” Madanach told him, and Argis did perk up at that, promising he’d be the best Jarl ever and he wouldn’t give all the nice things to Nords and make everyone else go hungry.

Madanach made a mental note to start training both Eithne and Argis in the finer points of rulership, because a Jarl of Windhelm that he’d trained and raised was too good to pass up. And once he’d reassured Eithne that she didn’t have to do what Ulfric told her unless it was something he’d want her to do or not do as well, and Amaleen that Ulfric would never try and make her be a boy and she could still wear all the dresses she liked, and Kaie that no, Ulfric wouldn’t pinch her while Madanach wasn’t looking (it turned out Mireen used to do that, usually just before Madanach was about to check on the kids so he’d be confronted with crying unhappy children to deal with, and Madanach was half-tempted to have the bitch raised so he could kill her personally), things seemed to calm down. 

All in all, not a bad result. It almost took Madanach’s mind off the fact he’d have to deal with Ulfric Stormcloak in his bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Ulfric meanwhile had left Markarth as the sun came up, only to find the camp in a flurry of activity, people already up and moving around and clearly preparing for action of some sort… and when they saw him, everyone seemed amazed.

“Sir, you’re alive!” one gasped.

“We thought...” another whispered.

“You mean you’re not a Reachman prisoner?”

How in the world did these things get started…

“No!” Ulfric snapped, scowling, and everyone flinched back. “I had some questions for King Madanach. So I paid him a visit. He answered them to my satisfaction. I do not recall authorising an assault.”

Silence, and lots of awkward looks and much shuffling of feet and no one quite meeting his eyes.

“Who told you to prepare for an attack on Markarth,” Ulfric growled. “ANSWER ME!”

“Galmar told us to...” one man, slightly braver than the rest, managed to get out, and that was all Ulfric needed to know.

“GALMAR!!!!!” Ulfric roared, voice echoing over the entire camp, and as one, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to see where Galmar was.

Galmar Stone-Fist was in the centre of the camp, at the war table, with Thorbjorn Shatter-Shield and Brunwulf Free-Winter at his side, clearly in a state of some distress. When he looked up and saw Ulfric approaching, large as life and clearly unharmed, he practically ran over, sweeping Ulfric into a crushing bear hug.

“Ulfric!” Galmar cried. “You’re alive! We believed you in Sovngarde by this point! What did those witchmen bastards do to you??”

Ulfric perhaps should have seen this coming. Galmar had served his father for some time as one of his most loyal guards, and on Ulfric’s return from High Hrothgar, had gladly been sworn to Ulfric’s service as housecarl, there to protect Ulfric while he marched off to war. He’d failed Ulfric once when Ulfric had been captured because neither man had taken the Aldmeri seriously enough, and ever since had been protective to the point of paranoia, insistent that he wasn’t losing Ulfric again. Ulfric’s disappearance last night must have sent him into a blind panic.

“Galmar,” Ulfric said gently, patting his housecarl on the back. “I’m fine. Madanach did nothing to me. I was not a prisoner. I merely had questions.”

“You couldn't have waited until morning??” Galmar cried. “Taken me with you? Nine damn it, man, I pass by your tent on the way back from the privy, see it’s empty, look for you, don’t find you and then the guards tell me you’re not in camp, have been gone for the last half hour at least and were last seen heading for Markarth?? I swore an oath to protect you, Ulfric! How do I face your father and tell him I lost you to the Reachmen??”

“I was never in any danger, Galmar,” Ulfric said quietly, feeling a bit guilty for worrying his bodyguard like this, because Galmar was a man of honour and would genuinely have been devastated to have failed in his oath.

“YOU WERE IN THE ENEMY CAPITAL, ULFRIC, IT’S THE MOST DANGEROUS PLACE YOU COULD HAVE BEEN!” Galmar shouted. “What were you _thinking?!_ ”

“Was he thinking Madanach was a beautiful witchman bastard again?” Thorbjorn sneered, at least until Galmar turned to glare at him.

“Shut your mouth, Shatter-Shield, or I run you out of camp myself,” Galmar snarled. “Ulfric was thinking no such thing, were you… Ulfric?” 

Galmar had turned back, and as he saw the guilty look on Ulfric’s face, realised Thorbjorn wasn’t wrong on this one.

“Ulfric, no...” Galmar whispered. “Tell me you were not...”

“We have a peace deal, Galmar,” Ulfric said, gritting his teeth and doing his best to sound firm and authoritative. “King Madanach and I have reached an agreement. There will be no assault on the city today or any other. We will leave our spare food supplies here and then retreat to Old Hroldan. The siege is over.”

“WHAT???” Galmar roared. “ULFRIC, HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND??? WE ARE BEING PAID TO DETHRONE THAT USURPING MURDERER AND RESTORE JARL IGMUND, NOT GIVE UP! WHERE IS YOUR HONOUR, MAN!”

Ulfric stared Galmar straight in the eye, realising that if he didn’t fight over this, he’d lose his militia for good. Not that he was reluctant, of course. No one insulted his honour without consequence. Not even Galmar.

“THEY HAVEN’T PAID US A DAMN THING, I HAD TO GET A LOAN FROM MY FATHER TO FUND ALL THIS!” Ulfric roared back. “AND THEY NEVER WILL!”

Turning to take in the rest of the camp, because the entire band had come to hear this one – well, at the volume Ulfric and Galmar were currently shouting at, it was hard not to – Ulfric slipped into full-on speechmaking mode. And Ulfric had never been bad at giving those.

“BROTHERS, SISTERS, WE HAVE BEEN LIED TO!” Ulfric shouted. “RAEREK AND IGMUND AND THE SILVER-BLOODS HAVE MISLED US! THEY HAVE NO INTENTION OF ALLOWING FREE WORSHIP OF TALOS! THEY WILL SWEAR THEIR FEALTY TO THE EMPIRE AND LET THE THALMOR BACK IN TO ENSLAVE US ALL!”

Gasps and whispering, because this was a complete turnaround on what Ulfric had been telling them before. But no one liked the Thalmor, most distrusted the Empire, and they’d all sworn oaths of loyalty to Ulfric and each other. Nords kept their oaths… but there were always loopholes. Ulfric was counting on that. A deal was a deal… unless you found out the other side weren’t intending to keep their word.

“And this didn’t occur to you before?” Thorbjorn muttered, and Ulfric was half tempted to send the damn merchant’s son back to Windhelm. He was only in the militia in the first place because the Shatter-Shields had invested as well.

“Perhaps, but I had no better offer on the table,” Ulfric replied. “Not until now!”

Silence. He had their interest at least. Galmar was still glaring but he at least didn’t look like he was about to hit him, which was something.

“Explain,” Galmar snapped. “What sort of terms is that damn mage offering? It had better be good to justify just breaking a contract like this.”

“Land and citizenship of the Reach,” Ulfric announced, hoping the nerves didn’t show. “He’s offering the right to settle in his kingdom. And within that settlement, we will be allowed to worship Talos freely! If we swear fealty to him, he will offer protection from the Thalmor to us, and to any of our fellow Nords who choose to join us. Here, we are outside the auspices of the false and corrupt Empire that betrayed those who bled in its defence! Here, the White-Gold Concordat never was agreed to. Here, in the land that Talos first conquered, we will praise his name again! Kinfolk, there will be no more Nord blood shed in the conquest of this land. We will raise a shrine to Talos’s name and found a sanctuary for our persecuted brethren! WHO IS WITH ME??”

The massed Stormcloaks had been looking more and more pleased as he’d spoken, and on the final sentence, they’d roared their approval. Ulfric quietly relaxed, realising he’d won this one. The men were with him, and that meant Galmar at least would back him. In public at least.

“Break camp then,” Ulfric ordered. “I want the spare food left here, the city will need it. Take enough with us for three days, leave the rest, we can hunt for more, or send people back to Skyrim for additional supplies. Stormcloaks, we move!”

The camp dispersed, everyone going to work, and Ulfric’s good mood lasted all of five seconds before Galmar dragged him back inside the command tent.

“And do you trust him to keep his word,” Galmar growled. “How do you know he’s not planning to massacre all of us while our guard is down.”

Ulfric wasn’t even sure how to begin to explain all this to Galmar, but he knew what he’d seen. He’d let his guard down, told his deepest secrets and been met with kindness. He’d been offered friendship, affection, and while Ulfric would be the first to admit he hadn’t got the first clue about romance, he could appreciate Madanach being nicer than he had any right to be. And while he didn’t have the first clue about parenthood, he’d picked up a fussing baby, held her in his arms and watched as her eyes widened and she’d stared up at him… and he’d grinned down at her and murmured a quiet hello to her, and she’d actually smiled and gurgled at him, and Talos help him, Ulfric had found it cute. True Nord Warriors were probably not supposed to like playing with babies, and Ulfric honestly had never even entertained the idea before in his life… but Eola was the first baby he’d seen close up, and Ulfric had been fascinated. It – she – was a tiny human. He’d never really thought about them like that before, but little Eola was a small person who’d seemed to like him. Hard not to respond to that. He’d felt actively disappointed when her father had started freaking out and he’d had to hand her back.

“Because I made promises too,” Ulfric said quietly. “I promised him loyalty, I promised to help defend the Reach, I promised to help smooth things over in Skyrim. He lets us worship Talos, and we become citizens of his kingdom.”

“It cannot be that simple,” Galmar growled back. “These witchmen hate Talos.”

“Start preaching His word on the streets of Markarth and he’ll arrest you as surely as the Thalmor would, but you can worship in our settlement and he will let it go,” Ulfric said, hoping Galmar wouldn’t press the matter. Alas, Galmar wasn’t convinced.

“And you just took his word for that,” Galmar said sceptically. “You trust a man who hates Nords and Talos and will murder our kin for fun.”

“There are living Nords in Markarth, he has not purged the city in the two years he’s held it,” Ulfric said, shrugging. “One is a member of his inner circle.”

“Not an answer, Ulfric,” Galmar said, folding his arms and glaring. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Silence, and Ulfric looked round the three of them: loyal but overprotective Galmar who’d known Ulfric too long to be fooled, shrewd Thorbjorn who had a trader’s instincts and who would like a return on his investment, and Brunwulf, serious-minded thinker with a firm moral code.

Hiding anything from any of them was a bad idea, and they were all too bright to fool for long.

“I’m marrying him,” Ulfric admitted. “He wanted a sign of reconciliation, so I agreed. Galmar, no.”

Galmar was shaking his head, looking devastated as he swept his bearskin hood back.

“Daedra-worshipping son of a Hagraven, NO!” Galmar cried, distraught. “Ulfric, you can’t do this to yourself, you can’t! I will not let him lay a finger on you! I won’t-!”

“Galmar,” Ulfric tried to get out, grabbing Galmar’s shoulders and trying to get the man to just listen, dammit! “Galmar, listen. Listen to me, man! Galmar, will you STOP!”

Galmar stopped as Ulfric’s voice made the very ground shudder, Thu’um edging into normal speech. Ulfric closed his eyes and breathed, calming himself down, and then opening his eyes and staring down his distraught housecarl.

“Galmar, I freely consented,” Ulfric said quietly. “I’m not handing myself over to a Daedra. Is it so hard to believe I might want the man in my bed?”

Galmar shook his head, looking near tears.

“What in the Void do I tell your father,” Galmar whispered, heartbroken, and Ulfric felt a twinge of guilt at hurting Galmar, because he clearly looked and felt awful. But it wasn’t Galmar’s decision, was it now?

“You tell him nothing,” Ulfric said, pulling his housecarl into a hug. “I will tell him, and if he objects, I will stand up to him. You swore an oath to protect and serve but it is not your job to coddle me. Madanach will be my husband, and I will swear myself to help protect his kingdom. If that means I have to have the man in my bed...” Ulfric paused, briefly contemplating Madanach spread out before him in the Keep’s double bed, cocky smile wiped off his face as Ulfric pinned him down, and broke out into a grin of his own. “I see no downside to this.”

Galmar practically howled and clung on to him and Ulfric could only sigh heavily and pat him on the back.

“Talos’s sake, man, you don’t have to like him,” Ulfric said wearily. “Just accept him as my husband.”

Galmar shook his head but mercifully he seemed to have given up arguing.

“If he hurts you, I’m putting an axe through his head myself,” Galmar growled, and Ulfric laughed. He’d expect no less from his housecarl and best friend in one. Still with his arms round Galmar, Ulfric looked up to see how the other two were taking it. Brunwulf was frowning… but Thorbjorn actually seemed pleased.

“He’s got all the Reach’s mines in his pocket, right?” Thorbjorn asked thoughtfully, and Ulfric confirmed this was so.

“Good, means he can cover Ma’s investment,” Thorbjorn said cheerfully. “Husbands are legally liable for their spouse’s debts, right?”

Not necessarily under Reach law, and there were exceptions under the Lex Imperio too. But Ulfric had a feeling he might not have a choice about this.

“He spoke of needing trading partners,” Ulfric said warily. “He might be amenable to some sort of business deal with your mother.”

Thorbjorn laughed and rubbed his hands, already contemplating the Reach gold flowing into the family coffers. He might not have been so sanguine had he realised that while Madanach wasn’t a bad negotiator by any means, the actual fine print and most of the day to day details would be delegated to Nepos the Nose, a man so skilled in creatively devious business practices that he’d almost created a new school of magic out of it.

But that was for the future and not really Ulfric’s problem. No, his most immediate problem was Brunwulf Free-Winter, the conscience of the Stormcloaks, staring him down almost as if he was Ulfric’s father, not Jarl Hoag. 

“Brunwulf. You have a problem?” Ulfric asked, and Brunwulf’s frown intensified.

“I have one question,” Brunwulf said carefully, not that Ulfric had ever known him to do anything any other way. “Are you sure about this. Really, truly sure about this. Do you really trust Madanach to be a good king who rules justly and keeps his word, and not a domineering, brutal warlord?”

Ulfric had to think about that one, because on the one hand the vicious fighting they’d had to face from his troops indicated he was both magically skilled and not squeamish, and Ulfric had definitely seen Hagravens and those Briarhearts among the Reachman dead. But on the other, the city of Markarth itself had seemed united behind him, both Nord, Reachman and other alike, and Madanach had not been reserving the food for himself and his family. He’d been sharing it out. That spoke of someone who wasn’t throwing his weight around as a ruler. And he’d been kinder than he’d needed to be to Ulfric. And insisting Ulfric get mind-healing treatment? Maybe that had been a means of protecting his children… but Ulfric had sensed genuine concern too.

_Despite everything, he is not a bad man._

“I trust him,” Ulfric said firmly, meeting Brunwulf’s stare head on. “And when we are wed, I will see for myself what manner of man he is and hold him to his word. You may trust me on that, Brunwulf.”

Brunwulf’s gaze held for a few seconds more… and then he nodded, lowering his eyes.

“Then I approve. Enough blood has been shed here. You know I argued against this one in the first place. I’m pleased to see it peacefully resolved.”

Ulfric had expected more of a fight… but if he was honest, Brunwulf had not been the same since losing his husband Skardan in the war. Apparently the dream of Sovngarde was not as compelling as the reality that his beloved was gone. 

Previously he’d derided it as weakness, but right now he was grateful for the support. And something about Brunwulf’s manner had seemed to calm Galmar as well, because his housecarl had let Ulfric go, composed himself and announced he’d better start thinking about the stag night then, not to mention that the best man’s speech wouldn’t write itself, would it?

Ulfric laughed and promised Galmar that of course he could be the best man, he wouldn't have it any other way, and with that, the deal was sealed. Returning to the immediate business of breaking camp and preparing to move, Ulfric began to feel quietly confident, and while he still wasn’t sure if Talos approved, something that sounded very much like the Voice of Kyne whispered its approval in his ear. For the first time since the war, Ulfric Stormcloak finally felt at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is more dealing with the culture shock, particularly Stormcloaks realising they're really not in Skyrim any more, and Keirine arriving to find out what on earth's going on, because we all know she'll have an opinion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madanach may be tied up with the business of rebuilding his city, but his kin aren't, and his sole remaining adult relative is keen to meet her new in-laws. The Stormcloaks meanwhile are slowly getting to grips with settling in a land with a life of its own, shot through with old magic and not entirely keen on them being there. Negotiation, favours and bargaining are required, but no one ever mentioned it'd be quite like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one doesn't actually have Madanach in it, strangely... but it does have his sister, who is a Matriarch of the Reach, her brother's only living adult kin, and keen to see who this new Nord brother-in-law is. It's also very much about cultural differences, Nords and Reachmen getting used to each other, and a definite sense of the Reach being very much the Land of Faerie where normal rules no longer apply and the Nords are a bit at sea once they've laid their weapons down.

Two days and no word from the city. Ulfric’s scouts had reported activity from the Reachmen, as the gates had opened, citizens had rushed to the farms on the outskirts, surveying barren fields in tears, and then hunters and messengers had left, presumably to rally the rest of the country and to get food for the city.

The day after that, a force had arrived from the north, and at its head a woman with blonde hair, a wooden staff with bone and feathers at its tip, and a cloak of feathers. The scouts had looked a bit pensive about describing her, and Ulfric had a horrible feeling that was no cloak of feathers but a damn Hagraven, bringing reinforcements.

They’d also reported Reachman attention. No hostilities but Madanach clearly wanted them watched, and Ulfric had seen small groups in the area, watching from a distance, narrowed eyes and suspicion in their body language, retreating into the craggy landscape and vanishing if approached. Apart from near certain rocks or trees, where the Reachman in question would cheerfully call out that that there rock was a fairy rock and they should leave it alone unless they wanted to end up cavorting with the Daedra. Any belligerence had been met with a shrug and response that they’d just wanted to give a friendly warning, if you Admorai were too stupid to heed it, it wasn’t their fault, was it now. While Ulfric was fairly certain touching a so-called fairy rock wouldn’t summon a horde of Daedric beings to drag you screaming into Oblivion, he’d given orders to leave them alone anyway. No sense starting a fight over a damn rock.

There were also the goats. All the other animals seemed normal enough, but a good chunk of the goats looked far too intelligent for anyone’s liking, and if you tried to hunt them, they disappeared. Ulfric had at first just thought they ran off too fast to catch but then his archers had insisted no, one of the cursed animals had literally vanished before their eyes. 

Then there were the ravens. Black feathered birds, constantly flying overhead and sometimes landing on their tents, watching far too intently, and Ulfric had a feeling not all Madanach’s spies were human. Either that or the bloody witchmen could shapeshift.

This entire country was giving him the creeps and, away from their all-too-human and all-too-attractive King, Ulfric was starting to wonder why he hadn’t just stormed the city instead. Everything about this land felt wrong, and many of his people were starting to report strange lights and noises in the night, a sense of being watched even in the camp, unseen fingers pulling at their clothes and gear, and then there were the dreams.

No one was keen on the dreams. The most common theme was screaming undead Reachmen trying to kill the dreamer and undead soldiers of Tiber Septim’s army wailing about who would avenge them now, and Ulfric’s were worse because they all seemed to think he was Talos.

An entire horde of Reach men, women and children calling him a murderer and Nord warriors wanting to know why he’d abandoned them on a nightly basis, and Ulfric was about ready to snap.

And then one of his men came running in to tell him that a party of Reachmen had arrived to parley and did he want to speak to them?

Ulfric had never left his tent so fast. At the edge of the camp, he found Galmar already there, arms folded and facing off against a party of a dozen armed ReachGuard soldiers, and at their head, flanked by two grim-faced bodyguards who, despite the covered chests, were just a bit too easy to pick out as those cursed Briarhearts, was a blonde woman in a raven cloak, staff raised.

Silver eyes narrowed at Galmar, feathered cloak covering most of her form, but Ulfric glimpsed Reach tribal gear underneath and the shimmer of magic around her. Glamours, perhaps? You could trust nothing in this bewitched land.

But what he did know was that she was the one who’d led the reinforcements, and now she was here, which meant she was someone senior in Madanach’s forces. Someone who’d been the first to call in after the siege had lifted, and someone who was now the first to come out here to talk to him. 

“What do you want, witch?” Galmar roared at her. “Haven’t you people done enough? Get your damn King out here, this is his fault, isn’t it? Has he cursed us all?”

“No one made you come here, Nord,” the witch growled back, looking very like Madanach in that moment, and Ulfric realised that he could have stood to realise earlier that a King had a royal family, and in this land of the witches, that meant at least one in said royal family.

Madanach’s blood kin had come, and she was too young to be his mother, too old to be a child. A sister, most like. A sister who, if Ulfric was any judge, might just be one of the Hagravens.

“Galmar,” Ulfric sighed, mentally girding himself for what was likely to be awkward enough a conversation without his housecarl muscling in. “I will speak with her. She is here on her King’s behalf… although I suspect he may not have sent her. He mentioned a sister. Are you her?”

The witch turned, locked eyes on him and actually smiled, seeming delighted, and no doubt about it now, that predatory grin was pure Madanach.

“So you’re Ulfric!” she purred. “My brother told me much about you. He wasn’t wrong about you being cute.”

Ulfric could feel himself blushing, but he determined not to let her get to him.

“I’m not entering into marriage negotiations with _you,_ ” he snapped. “That’s between me and Madanach.”

The witch raised an eyebrow, still smiling.

“In marriages where the stakes are this high, it’s usual for the kin to help negotiate the contract,” she pointed out. “Doubtless your father will be attending. Our parents are long dead, and Madanach’s children are too young, so that just leaves me. Matriarch Keirine, twin sister to Madanach. It’s a pleasure, Sirrah Stormcloak.”

Annoyingly, she wasn’t wrong. Ulfric growled and gave up. He might as well invite her in, she clearly had her reasons for being here. Presumably it wasn’t to sacrifice them all to the witch gods.

“Ugh, call me Ulfric, if he’s spoken to you, he’s likely told you what our bargain was,” Ulfric sighed. “Fine, _Matriarch._ What is it you want?”

“Want?” Keirine pouted, almost fluttering her eyelashes. “Why, to meet the brave Nord who’d stolen my brother’s heart of course. And to ensure you really had ceased hostilities.”

“Cease hostilities??” Galmar shouted. “We’ve been plagued by nightmares and hauntings since we arrived! We retreated and you inflict ghosts on us?? Don’t tell me you people aren’t watching us!”

“The spies I will admit, but you don’t think we’d trust you to go about entirely unsupervised, do you?” Keirine said with a shrug, falling into step beside Ulfric, seeming bent over lower than she should be for her age… but not if her real legs were twisted and deformed bird’s legs and she was supporting herself on taloned feet.

“I could handle your people watching us, but the dreams and hauntings are not necessary,” Ulfric growled. “We agreed an armistice.”

“You think the dreams were sent by me?” Keirine laughed, rolling her eyes and sharing an amused glance with one of her human guards. “Please. If I were responsible, you’d have been plagued by them the second you crossed our borders. Alas, I don’t have that power. Not yet. No, the dreams are because this place was the site of an old battle, the one where Tiber Septim massacred an entire settlement with his Voice, and went on to enslave the Reach. All the bloodshed has thinned the Veil and the local spirits have never forgotten. The presence here of a troop of heavily armed Nord invaders, led by one with Voice magic, has probably provoked them. The ones embodying dead Nords want to know why you led them to their deaths, and the ones reflecting dead Reachmen think you’re invading again. I’m unconvinced they’re wrong.”

“Well, can you get them to stop??” Ulfric cried. “They’re driving us all mad! Don’t tell me you don’t have some sway in the spirit world.”

Keirine tilted her head at that, clearly thinking this over.

“There is a shrine to Dibella over there,” she purred. “We worship her too. She presides over beauty, fertility, passion, creativity, poetry, the arts… and diplomacy. It is she we turn to when we wish to strike a bargain. Shall we sit under her auspices and talk?”

Ulfric was absolutely certain that this one knew absolutely nothing about any of the things she’d just listed, but he had nothing to lose by hearing her out. 

So he escorted her to the shrine, sat down with her on the steps and waited to hear what she had to say.

“So, you came here to see me, why?” Ulfric asked. “Does Madanach know you’re here?”

“No, but don’t worry, I’m not here to harm _you!_ ” Keirine laughed. “I wanted to see you for myself… and I wondered if the spirits might be giving you trouble. I might be able to help with that… for a price.”

He knew it. And he had no way of knowing she’d not caused the damn problem in the first place… but her explanation of the old battlefield being haunted anyway had the ring of truth to it. He’d picked this site because it was the site of Talos’s first big victory. He’d not stopped to think perhaps that might have been a mistake.

Too late now, and moving his men again would look weak. He’d had enough trouble convincing them of the need to retreat, and only the promise that Madanach had agreed to give them land and the right to worship Talos had swayed them… if they helped defend his country from the Empire that had betrayed them.

It was a measure of how weird things had got that that bit had got a cheer from everyone. And so he’d brought them all here and claimed Old Hroldan as theirs… and was only now finding out there was a reason the Reachmen had never reclaimed this place.

“And your price would be what,” Ulfric snapped. “Gold? Goods? Favours? It had better not be a blood sacrifice.”

“Not exactly,” Keirine said carefully, in a way that implied someone was probably going to die. “Does battle count?”

Not what he’d expected. Ulfric leaned closer, wondering who he’d have to fight. Talos knew his troops were getting agitated. A little fighting might be just the thing.

“Who are we fighting?” Ulfric asked, trying not to sound too eager and Keirine actually laughed.

“Oh, you Nords. A little magic and you all make that face – yes, that one, like someone just opened their bowels in front of your High King – but order you to bludgeon someone dangerous and you’re all ears. Ha! No matter. That’s what I have need of. Big strong warriors.”

“Didn’t you lead an entire force of them to Markarth only yesterday?” Ulfric asked and Keirine paused, nodding cautiously.

“Yes, but they’re tribal Reachmen. They won’t rise their blades against a Matriarch. A problem if I need one of them punishing.”

“You’re one. Can’t you face her one on one?” Ulfric asked and Keirine gritted her teeth.

“She is First Matriarch and has her two daughters, also Hags, at Lost Valley with her. Any one of them I could fight on her own, but all three at once? No. My troops will be useless and I can’t fight her alone. Even my brother cannot get involved or risk losing his crown. And yet she must be punished.”

“Why, what did she do?” Ulfric asked, and Keirine actually bristled… and the glamour slipped, just for a moment, revealing clawed fingers, taloned feet, tight skin on her face and fanged teeth bared in a rictus.

“It’s what the traitorous bitch _didn’t_ do. You invaded down this route, met our lines at Karthspire… and if someone had been doing their job, while you were hammering the Karthspire defenders, Lost Valley would have taken you in the rear and slaughtered you from behind, leaving you trapped between two forces in a narrow canyon. You can only Shout in one direction at a time, Nord. You’d have been annihilated,” Keirine growled, vicious anger flashing in her eyes. 

“And yet here we are, surviving,” Ulfric grinned, trying not to laugh too hard at her. “Are you disappointed?”

“I will live,” Keirine muttered, glamours settling back into place. “She however will pay. I do not care if she is First Matriarch. She nearly cost my brother his crown and his life. He is the anointed King. We crowned him in the old ways. She owes him her loyalty, and if she will not give it, I intend to call her on it. I intend to challenge her for her title of First Matriarch in a battle to the death. My own soldiers cannot help me… but yours could. How about it, Ulfric? Help me kill three Hagravens, and I’ll help you deal with your little haunting problem.”

“You can’t do that first?” Ulfric wondered aloud, and Keirine laughed.

“Hardly. It’s not that I don’t trust you, although I don’t, not quite, not yet. It’s that I don’t fully have the power. I am only one Matriarch… although as blood kin to the crowned King, I do have a connection to the land that I never had before. As the one who brought down the First and took her place… well now, that would give me real power. Madanach could benefit greatly from a First Matriarch he can actually trust, and you’d benefit from one who owed you a favour. The fact you would also have shown us both some loyalty and a willingness to bleed for our cause, that would also go down well.”

“You’re not worried that using Nord mercenaries to fight your own would turn people against you?” Ulfric asked. “In Skyrim, that might be considered cheating.”

Keirine’s eyes widened and then she let out a delighted cackle, as if she thought the idea was hilarious.

“Dibella bless you, child, that is adorable,” Keirine laughed. “Ulfric cariad, if she had done her job, there would be no Nord mercenaries available and no immediate need to challenge her. As it is, using the Nords she let rampage into the country in the first place as a tool to punish her with will be poetic justice. The Reachmen value cunning and power, Ulfric. Using cunning to win power has never failed to impress them yet. Also the lesson that if you plot against Madanach, you had better be sure it’ll work, because there’s an excellent chance he might turn your own plot against you is something I think the Reach could stand to take to heart.”

Ulfric should not be finding this enthralling and yet there was something impressive about her reasoning. The irony amused him, if nothing else, and his men could do with the opportunity to fight at least _some_ Reachmen.

“All right, Matriarch,” Ulfric agreed, grinning at the thought of an honest-to-good fight at last. “Come, let’s find some paper and take over one of the rooms in the inn. We have us a battle to plan.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The resulting planning session had left Ulfric with the impression that Keirine, while clearly very bright, wasn’t usually involved in the battle planning, because she was asking a lot of questions, frowning at the roughly-drawn sketches of Lost Valley Redoubt as if she’d never seen a battle plan before, and generally letting him make more decisions than he’d expected.

“You’ve proven your might,” Keirine said with a shrug when he mentioned this to her. “I’d be foolish not to take advantage of your expertise.”

He’d have been more susceptible to the flattery if he’d not seen her real face. As it was, Ulfric elected not to let it go to his head. He wasn’t blind to this being a test of his loyalty, which meant there could be a dagger waiting for his back yet.

Still, the men seemed fired up and Galmar had wasted no time in selecting five of his finest, and the small party was lying in wait to the west of the camp. While the camp was hard to invade from the road, there was another way in across the cliffs to the west. There was only a small watchtower, which one of the Hags had just left in a hurry, making her way to the platforms at the top of the Redoubt. Keirine had seemed to think it wouldn’t be heavily defended, if at all, and anyone in there would likely run to fight her. They wouldn’t expect an attack from behind. And so Ulfric had scaled the cliffs as the sun came up, with Keirine landing at the top in bird form then throwing some rope down, and now they were lying in wait, Keirine having gone off to issue her challenge at the main entrance. 

A pause, then shouting and magic… and an ice spike in the air, which was the signal to attack.

“Remember, do not attack the blonde one or her guards, just the other three and whoever sides with them,” Ulfric reminded his men. “Galmar, what.”

“Don’t see why we can’t kill them all,” Galmar growled. Others might complain, but Galmar was the only one who’d ever question Ulfric’s orders. “We’re here to kill witchmen, aren’t we?”

“We’re being paid to kill Lost Valley’s Hagraven leaders, not the blonde one challenging them,” Ulfric snapped. “And if you have a problem with that, keep this in mind. She is the one paying us. Now MOVE IT! FOR TALOS AND THE NORDS!”

“FOR SKYYYYRRRIIIIIMMM!” the Stormcloaks roared, charging into battle, half a dozen of Ulfric’s best all falling into line behind their leader, and as Ulfric arrived, one Shout sent the enemy Hags flying, Keirine seeing the onslaught coming and falling back, pulling her Briarheart guards back and sending up a ward just in case.

With the foes, three Hags and two Briarhearts, stunned and helpless for a few brief moments, the outcome was a foregone conclusion. Ulfric's men were on them, and their targets recovered too late to do anything about the axeblows and sword-thrusts raining down on them. And once the blood was flowing, Keirine’s blood magic, draining the life out of the First Matriarch of the Forsworn, did the rest.

“Why?” the dying Hagraven cried.

“My brother weathered the storm and returns it with interest,” Keirine growled. “Reap what you sowed, Grania.”

First Matriarch Grania had no answer for that, because Galmar had decapitated her by that point, and six Stormcloaks turned to where their leader was approaching Keirine.

“Matriarch. Your enemies lie dead, as requested. You can hold up your end of the deal, I trust?”

“Your men will have coin,” Keirine promised. “Maybe some enchanted bits and pieces too. I’ll announce to the camp below they have a new First Matriarch, and meet you back at Old Hroldan. I’ll exorcise the place for you, and then tell my brother...”

Galmar had reached for his axe and advanced on her, furious to see her unmasked as a Hagraven, with an unconcealed Briarheart at her back (one had fallen in the battle).

“Wait, that’s Madanach’s sister?? We’re giving our blades to one of those monsters? Stand aside, Ulfric, I’m killing her mysel-”

Ulfric not only did not stand aside, he moved to shield her, arms outstretched as he stood between certain death and the First Matriarch of the Reach.

“No,” said Ulfric, barely flinching, and Galmar’s axe paused mid-swing.

“What??” Galmar cried. “Ulfric, what is wrong with you! She’s a damn Hag!”

“She’s a witch who will help keep us safe from the Thalmor and their toadies,” Ulfric said firmly. “And the witch who hired us for this job. And her brother is the man I will be swearing fealty to. We will have our sanctuary to worship Talos in safety, Galmar. If the price is protecting Madanach and his people, so be it. I keep my oaths, my friend. Need I remind you of yours? You once told me you’d follow me to Oblivion if you had to.”

“Aye, but I didn’t think you’d actually take me up on it!” Galmar snapped. “Didn’t think you’d lead us there and start siding with the damn Daedra either!”

“No one is keeping you here, Nord,” Keirine purred. “You’re welcome to leave my brother’s lands. Build your sanctuary out on the tundra instead. See what the Thalmor decide to do about it. That young Jarl of the plains, Balgruuf is it? He’ll be able to give you about as much protection as Jarl Igmund could.”

There was muttering behind Galmar, and he began to sense the mood changing, as it had been since Ulfric had denounced Igmund, Raerek and the Silver-Bloods as treacherous snakes who had no intention of honouring their deal, and how that meant Stormcloak priorities were changing. That Madanach might allow a Talos sanctuary here in return for fealty had been surprising news and not entirely believable, but many had been thinking about it. Hearing Madanach’s own sister imply that Igmund’s word was worthless but that Madanach’s protection might mean something was starting to change a few minds. Galmar however remained unconvinced.

“And I’m supposed to just believe you’re not in league with them yourself?!” he cried. Keirine shrugged.

“I’ve never had dealings with them, and my people trust them not at all,” Keirine said, sounding surprisingly calm considering Galmar hadn’t let go of his axe. “Did you wish me to kill a few of them as proof of my sincerity? It could be arranged.”

That did give Galmar pause. He was a simple man of simple passions, and offering to murder Thalmor had a way of defusing his aggression. Still suspicious, he lowered his axe.

“How many?” he asked warily. “Twenty?”

“Twenty??” Keirine bristled. “That will bring the wrath of the Dominion down on all our heads. It needs to be stealth hits, not bloody slaughter. They need to not know for sure that we definitely killed them. I will get you three.”

“Three? THREE?” Galmar shouted. “Barely worth getting out of bed for! Twelve!”

“Nine,” Ulfric said quietly. “Nine of theirs. It was always a sacred number to Nords. It will send a message. Do not worry about delivering all their heads at once. I at least can be patient.”

The men behind Galmar roared approval at that one, and Galmar realised he’d just been completely outmanoeuvred by the commanding officer who was always one step ahead of the rest, and laughing sheepishly, he put his axe away as he recalled why he followed Ulfric in the first place.

“All right, witch,” Galmar laughed. “I’ll have the men set some pikes up ready and waiting.”

“I’ll be sure to have them filled by year’s end,” Keirine promised, smirking. “In the meantime, I’ll organise your pay for this and do that exorcism for you, but that chest over there will have Grania’s stash of valuables. Help yourselves, although if you don’t recognise it, give it to me first. I can’t promise all the stuff in there is harmless.”

Mercifully, all of it turned out to be fairly run of the mill – gold, gemstones, a dwarven battleaxe that Ulfric told Galmar he could have, a healing potion which Ulfric took for their supplies… and an ancient Nordic sword, inscribed in Dovahzul.

“Now where did this come from, I wonder,” Ulfric murmured, lifting it up and reading the inscription, being the sole member of the group who could. “Al-ka-ir uth zu’u wahl fah Hjalti… Alcaire was Talos’s birthplace, and Hjalti, that is an old name for him. If this inscription means what I think it does, this sword might have been an official gift of some sort for the young Talos, a coming of age present or indicating he’d completed his sword training. Galmar, look at it, this could be a priceless relic of Talos.”

Admiring gasps all round, and Ulfric claimed the sword as a trophy, feeling very pleased with himself. Never mind the coin, he could have that distributed among the men. This sword was worth the effort all on its own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

All that was left was the exorcism, and despite the protests of the Stormcloak chaplain, Lortheim priest of Talos, Keirine was allowed in to carry out the ritual as night fell, Ulfric rather pointedly telling Lortheim he’d had three days by this point to produce some effects and nothing had happened, why not let the local witch have a go.

And so candles were lit, the camp fell quiet, Keirine sacrificed a goat, and the Veil became visible.

Hordes of dead Reachmen, women and children immediately appeared, hands outstretched, all pawing at the Stormcloaks, all howling for justice, and several of the Nords reached for their weapons or their comrades, some even leaping into the lap of the one next to them. At least until Keirine called for calm.

“Enough!” Keirine hissed. “I am Keirine ap Caradach, First Matriarch of the Reach! Sons and daughters of Red Eagle’s land, Dibella’s own country, hearken unto me! Do you recognise me?”

As one, the horde of Reach ghosts turned to stare at Keirine… and then, slowly, one by one, the ghosts of dead Reachfolk started to kneel, parents pushing their children to their knees and everyone saluting, all clearly recognising Keirine’s authority.

“Who speaks for you,” Keirine growled, and there was a murmur around the crowd, before a young woman stepped forward, her spectral form coming to stand before the Hagraven.

“I will, Matriarch,” she said quietly. “I am Rhianna ap Caridwen, Priestess of the Old Gods, from the settlement of Yroldain.”

“Greetings, Mistress Rhianna,” Keirine said, voice becoming gentle. “Why can you not go to your rest?”

“We fear,” the ghost whispered, and the others echoed her, the words ‘fear… fear… fear’ sweeping round the camp. “The invaders are here, burning our homes, killing our goats, our kin, killing us, they’ll kill us all, _they’ll kill us all!_ ”

‘Kill us all, kill us all, kill us, kill us, killers, killers, killkillkillkillkill…”

“STOP!” Keirine cried, and the ghosts fell silent, although Lortheim quietly intoning prayers to Talos to give him strength and several Nords whimpering could be heard quite clearly.

“There is no fire,” Keirine said calmly, staring at the ghost woman. “There is no fighting. The Nords have laid down their weapons. Their leader, the Great Tongue, the Stormcloak himself, has met with the Reach-King and agreed to peace. There will be no more Reach-blood shed here.”

Rhianna gasped, glancing at the other ghosts, and then as one they all turned to Ulfric. By Talos, but Ulfric hadn’t thought he’d be dealing with this. If he’d known about the spirits he’d have turned this job down. But he was here, and he wasn’t backing down.

“Hjalti, Stormcrown, you have much to answer for,” Rhianna hissed at him. “You whose Thu’um has shattered our country. How has the King not killed you?”

“Say something,” Keirine murmured. “Tell her you repented and laid down your weapons. Tell her you have had your fill of blood.”

Nine help him. But every pair of eyes, living or dead, was on him. He owed them something.

“I came to him under flag of truce,” Ulfric told the ghost. “Mistress Rhianna, I came here because I was asked and promised a valuable reward in return. But I met with your King, and he opened my eyes. My backers are playing falsely with us. But King Madanach, he can offer us what they cannot. He has made me a better offer. And so I have pledged peace. For now, at least. The negotiations are still under way.”

“You came here, killed our people, desecrated our land, for COIN??” Rhianna hissed, features twisting into something demonic, not unlike a Hag’s, and the Reach ghosts were also hissing, reaching for weapons or magic, and Ulfric, panic starting to rise, turned to Keirine in desperation.

“Witch, do something,” Ulfric snapped and Keirine rolled her eyes.

“Reachmen do not care about material wealth like Imperials do, Ulfric,” Keirine hissed. “Give them something else. Tell them the truth!”

Ulfric closed his eyes, not liking this, but his men were starting to panic, the spirits were angry, crying and screaming and objects starting to fly round the camp and rattle on their own, and things were getting perilously out of hand.

“All right!” Ulfric cried, giving in. “Yes, I came here for coin, but I was wrong! I see that now! I’m negotiating with Madanach over the details, but a better offer is not why I laid down my arms! I stopped fighting for love!”

The spirit stopped and everything fell still. Rhianna, humanlike again, had quietened down and was watching him with interest.

“For love?” she asked. “Love of what? Who?”

“Love of the Reach-King,” Ulfric admitted, because while it wasn’t love yet, it could be. An argumentative, combative kind of love, with wildfire Madanach never easy to control or predict, but Ulfric could imagine waking up with Madanach in his arms, Madanach sleepily cuddling next to him, and quite possibly little baby Eola in the cradle next to the bed, happy to be picked up and cuddled by either of her fathers.

Ulfric wasn’t sure how it’d actually work out, but one thing he did know. He wanted that cocky, arrogant witchman in his bed, that irritating grin wiped off his face as Madanach submitted to him and begged him for more.

_Never mind conquering your land, I will settle for you, Madanach. And no one harms what is mine. No one._

It wasn’t love but for a man like Ulfric, it was the next best thing.

“Love?” Rhianna whispered, eyes lighting up. “What, of the King? Did your eyes meet on the field of battle, everything seem to stop, and you couldn’t help but throw your weapons down, beg his forgiveness and offer him your hand?”

Ulfric opened his mouth to answer that it hadn’t quite been like that, but Galmar beat him to it.

“Took one look at him on the ramparts and called him a beautiful witchman bastard,” Galmar cheerfully informed everyone, not troubling to keep his voice down. “Then there was one official parley, and then another secret one in the middle of the night when Ulfric sneaked off to his keep without anyone knowing, and then in the morning Ulfric's doing the walk of shame back from Markarth and tells us all the siege is over and he’s got a peace deal and we’re all settling out here.”

Gasps and barely muffled laughter from the Nordic contingent, all hastily stifled as Ulfric swept a furious glare over his people, eyes landing on Galmar particularly fiercely.

“I did _not_ do the walk of shame,” Ulfric snarled at his unrepentant housecarl. 

“Proud of it, were you?” Galmar laughed, and Rhianna actually squealed.

“Oh, that is so _romantic!_ ” she gasped, clasping her hands, and behind her, the crowd of Reach ghosts all collectively made a noise that sounded like ‘awww!’ Ulfric could only put his head in his hands, his reputation in ruins… but the ghosts didn’t seem to mind. Keirine wound up the negotiations, asking if the ghosts would please leave the Reach-King’s repentant future husband alone, and to everyone’s relief, the ghosts agreed and took their leave.

The entire camp relaxed and Ulfric was on the verge of thanking Keirine for her help… when another ghost appeared. This one was a Nord.

“Hjalti!” the ghost cried, reaching out for him. “Hjalti, brother, do you not recognise me?”

It was heading straight for Ulfric, arms reaching out for him – a grim-faced, bearded Nord warrior, ignoring everyone else, his eyes fixed on Ulfric Stormcloak.

Ulfric turned to Keirine in a panic.

“Do something!” he hissed. Keirine just shrugged.

“What do I know about Nord ghosts, Stormcloak? He is one of yours, talk to him! If he calls you brother, greet him as such and ask why he’s still here and not wherever you people go when you die.”

Ulfric growled but with the ghost right there, he had other problems than unhelpful Hagravens. Gritting his teeth, he realised he had no choice but to do what she asked.

“Brother,” Ulfric acknowledged. “It… has been a long time. My friend, you fell in battle, you gave your life in my service. Why are you still here? The glory of Sovngarde is yours. Shor’s Hall is waiting for you! Why haven’t you left?”

“Not without you, my friend,” the dead Nord said, hopeful smile on his face as he came to sit next to Ulfric. “Hjalti, you said after this battle that you would give me your sword and make me your sworn brother! I’ve waited, Hjalti! I’ve waited so long! Waiting for you to honour your promise!”

“Friend, I think you have me mistaken for someone else...” Ulfric began, but his soldiers were all watching him and whispering, and Galmar in particular was looking very suspicious.

“Wait, Ulfric, didn’t you say Hjalti was the original name of Talos?” Galmar demanded. “Are we talking to one of Talos’s closest friends as a young man??”

“Hjalti, there is no mistake, I would know your Thu’um anywhere!” the ghost said, sounding far more confident than he had any right to be, and oh gods, now everyone really was whispering, with suspicious looks from the Reachmen and as for his own… sweet Breath of Kyne, their mood had gone from anxious and wary to staring at him in absolute adulation.

_They are going to think I am Talos returned at this rate._

It didn’t bother him quite as much as he’d thought. 

“What do I do,” Ulfric said quietly to Keirine. The Hag just shrugged.

“He’s stated his desires pretty clearly,” Keirine said, examining her fingernails, probably checking to ensure the illusions were holding and those were nails still and not claws. “He’s been waiting for his old friend to return, declare him to be his sworn brother and gift him with the sword he promised. So do that, give him that sword you found with Hjalti’s name on it, and he’ll probably be more than happy to go to this Sovngarde place and keep a seat and a drink for you.”

Ulfric’s hand went to his sword, his new-found relic of Talos that deserved a temple, a fine display and priests to tend it, that he’d been thinking of making the centrepiece of Talos worship here. Was Keirine seriously suggesting he give it up for a damn spirit??

“You’re not serious, I only just got this sword!” Ulfric hissed, and the ghost looked confused.

“Hjalti, you’ve had it for years, it was a gift from the swordmasters of Alcaire!” he protested. “You promised me, Hjalti!”

Ulfric groaned and turned helpless eyes to Galmar… and found no help whatsoever.

“Ulfric, give the man his sword and declare him your brother!” Galmar sighed. “He’s one of Talos’s intimate friends and his dying wish was for Talos to tell him it was mutual. He’s put off Sovngarde for centuries waiting for this! What sort of men are we if we take it away from him? Can we call ourselves Nords if we say no?”

It was nice of Galmar to say we, but Ulfric knew damn well this one was all on him. Reluctantly, Ulfric unfastened the sword and held it out to the ghost.

“I promised you, didn’t I?” Ulfric said ruefully. “My brother, I swear to you the world shall know we’re kin, as if you were my own blood. Here, take the sword with my name on it, and wield it, that all may know whose name you fight in.”

The ghost looked near tears as he took the sword, promising he would fight at Hjalti’s side whenever he needed him, and would bear this blade proudly.

“Our campaign in the Reach is over, my friend,” Ulfric told him. “We have a victory and land of our own. I won’t need you in my armies, and you deserve a rest after your long vigil. The only battle I require of you now is in Sovngarde. Wield that blade against Tsun, and when you’ve proved your mettle, save me a warm seat and a cold ale. I will join you one day, when my work here is done.”

The ghost tearfully promised Ulfric he’d do this very thing, embraced him in a full Nordic bear hug, which Ulfric returned, somehow managing to make it not look awkward, and then the ghost faded away, off to spend his afterlife quaffing mead and boasting about how Hjalti-now-Talos was his sworn brother and had gifted him his sword as a token of affection.

“Well done Ulfric, knew you had it in you!” Galmar laughed, patted him on the back, and Keirine brought the ritual to an end and got to her feet.

“Indeed. I do not believe you will have any further problems with hauntings,” Keirine said smoothly. “Now, I should really head back to Markarth – what is it, Stone-Fist?”

“You’re not staying?” Galmar said, confused. “We’ve got mead! We fought a battle! We got rid of the spirits! Now it’s time for the drinking!”

Roaring from the assembled Nords, and Keirine’s eyes had glazed over, Ulfric could tell.

“You truly don’t have to stay,” he told her, and Keirine glanced at the warriors behind her, all of whom were looking hopefully at the casks of mead appearing suddenly, and then two Nords carried out an entire hog carcass and began preparing it for roasting, and one of the Reachmen actually whimpered.

Keirine sighed and gave in to the inevitable.

“If we are invited, we shall stay,” Keirine said wearily. “Just know I refuse to participate in any drinking games.”

Ulfric promised to try and preserve her dignity, and the feast began. As food and drink was shared, and Reachmen soldiers started cautiously sitting down with Nord warriors, Ulfric began to relax. Today had gone well, and two warring enemies were finally starting to turn into friends. It wasn’t a bad outcome.

It would have been an even better one if Keirine had brought her brother with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The drinking session did not, in the end, turn out to be as fraught as either Ulfric or Keirine had feared, although there were a couple of incidents involving cultural misunderstandings over the role of violence in a victory celebration. It turned out Reachmen reserved violence exclusively for the battlefield, and had no concept of a friendly brawl, whereas Nords regarded a party as dull indeed if there hadn’t been at least two punch-ups. The misunderstanding had only been resolved when one of the Reachwomen had commented that she’d met people with stranger kinks, and at that point the Reachfolk had suddenly seemed to get it… sort of. Brawls which involved things like rules of engagement and safe words weren’t something the Nords were exactly used to, and they definitely weren’t used to their opponent suddenly shouting ‘come to my arms, you beautiful Nordic bastard – what, it worked for the king, right?’ and kissing them at critical points in the fight. At which point it became apparent to the Nords that while Reachfolk only fought for real, their concept of courtship encompassed a greater set of behaviours than the Nords had imagined, and that it turned out that to a man, woman or other, the Reachkin who’d agreed to fight had in fact fancied the Nord in question. Which put an interesting slant on matters, to say the least.

It had ended up with an awful lot of people waking up in tents that weren’t theirs, and a lot of awkward silences the next day… but one or two of the Stormcloaks were seen furtively seeing off their previous night’s bedmate in such a way as to imply they might be seeing each other again.

Thorbjorn had been knocking back every single jenever shot the Reachmen had put in front of him and had no real memory of anything past his third, but had what looked like lovebites all over him. Brunwulf had been seen sobbing his heart out over Skardan with two of the Reachfolk comforting him and telling him quietly that Skardan would have wanted him to move on with his life, and while Ulfric didn’t think anything sexual had happened, Brunwulf seemed more at peace this morning. 

And Ulfric had spent the evening sitting with Keirine, watching Galmar drink his own body weight in ale in what he could swear was an attempt to impress the First Matriarch of the Reach. He was fairly certain it wasn’t working, although when Galmar finally did pass out, Keirine stroked his hair rather fondly and had her Briarheart guard pick Galmar up and take him back to his tent. 

“You know, I would have done that myself,” Ulfric protested as he followed behind. “You do not need to tend to Galmar after he’s had a few.”

“Perhaps,” Keirine said, amused. “Only I feel partly responsible. Does he often get nervous? I have a feeling he was drinking to calm his nerves.”

Ulfric hadn’t been aware Galmar had ever suffered anxiety in his life, which troubled him a little if she was right.

“Perhaps it was drinking with a Hagraven,” he said, eyeing Keirine with the glamours off. She wasn’t that old, and if you were prepared to overlook the talons and feathers, perhaps… no. Not Ulfric’s type. But Galmar’s?? He’d never have thought so, and yet before coming here, he would never have said Madanach was his type either.

Keirine did laugh at that. “Perhaps!” she cackled. “Well, I will leave him some potions and when he wakes up, you tell him he doesn’t need to fear on my account. He kills my enemies, I’ll kill his, everyone’s happy.”

“That will keep Galmar happy,” Ulfric promised. “He is a simple man of simple pleasures. I almost envy him.”

“You are certainly not simple,” Keirine agreed, nodding. “I would never have taken you to my bed. You are too dangerous for that. Too intelligent. I prefer my men straightforward and easy to control. But for my brother, you’ll do nicely. He is easily bored and likes a challenge. You are definitely that.”

Ulfric could agree to that. And so the next day, when the Reachmen took their leave, he could sit back, sip a mead, and decide that all things considered, that could have gone worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inscription on the sword means 'Alcaire had me made for Hjalti'. Stands to reason Ulfric the ex-Greybeard would know his Talos-lore, and how to read the Dragon tongue. I did like being able to get the Old Hroldan ghost from in-game into this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks on, and Ulfric finally sees Madanach again... and he's not alone. Madanach has a family, and it's not just his sister but his older children who want to find out who this new stepfather is. Delicate as this situation is, what finally causes trouble isn't Ulfric's relationships with Madanach's kin but with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madanach's kids are in this one! I had a lot of fun writing them - Eithne's almost a teenager and it shows, Amaleen is an adorable little sweetie who resembles Maia in AoD in a lot of ways (although she's not Dragonborn), and Argis is newly added to the family and mostly getting on with his new sisters - he's been friends with Eithne since not long after the takeover, and that's mutated pretty seamlessly into a close brother and sister teasing friendship, while Amaleen practically worships the ground he walks on and he's super-protective of her.
> 
> And I got to write Madanach and Ulfric just chilling out and theirs remains an interesting dynamic. There's a lot of affection but also a lot of anxieties and nerves and Issues going on. Despite Ulfric now having a therapist. :D (Sister Hamal is Mother Hamal the head priestess at the Temple of Dibella in 4E 201).

Soon after that, the courier arrived, claiming he’d heard the border had re-opened and did anyone need to send any post?

Ulfric had a letter to his father good to go, and wasted no time sending it. While he dreaded his father’s reaction to all this, he needed money, supplies, trade and diplomatic contacts for Madanach… all of which relied on his father’s goodwill. He just hoped it would be forthcoming.

Soon after that, the Khajiit traders arrived, and Galmar was all set to run them off until Ulfric told him not to be a fool, they might have something worth buying. They certainly didn’t have anyone else offering to supply them with goods.

Then Sister Hamal arrived from the Temple of Dibella, with a ReachGuard escort and her own camping gear, announcing she’d been appointed Ulfric’s spiritual advisor by order of the Reach-King. The look she gave him indicated she knew exactly what she was there for, and the resulting thrice-weekly sessions where she took Ulfric somewhere private and made him talk about his feelings were a kind of torture so horrific for him, he was half-tempted to just turn himself into the Thalmor to get away from them. As it was, he only walked out of a few of them and Sister Hamal would be patiently waiting for him when he’d calmed down, ready to resume.

But the bits where she pointed out that if he wrapped up his entire identity into being a warrior, what happened when there were no more enemies to fight, and would that be any use to him anyway as a family man and the ‘foes’ were his husband and children – those bits did stick with him, and the Voice of Kyne whispered quietly that there was more to life than fighting and hadn’t he said to Galmar once that he’d be happy to lay down his weapons when there was no more need for war?

Perhaps he could put them down for a bit. Not far away, mind, and never out of reach, and certainly he’d stay in training. But perhaps it need not be a full-time occupation.

He would be the last person to admit it publicly, if at all, but the treatment, hellish as it was, was starting to work.

And a few days after Hamal’s arrival, a few Reachfolk with an accent subtly different from the rest of them arrived with farming supplies and building materials and the cheerful advice that it was about time they started actually building a town, right?

Ulfric glanced at the crossed out heraldic symbol on the lumber cart, recognising it as that of the Duke of Evermore, and idly wondered if the Duke actually knew these supplies had ended up in the eastern Reach. The scorchmarks on the cart would probably indicate no, but Ulfric didn’t care. The men were getting bored, they were low on mead, something to do would lift their spirits and get the innkeeper off Ulfric’s back.

And so it was that a thriving little town was starting to form, and even better from Ulfric’s point of view, Galmar and Brunwulf between them were doing most of the organising, while Thorbjorn handled the finances, which meant day to day, he didn’t have a lot to do.

So where the hell was Madanach. It had been nearly three weeks and no word from the capital. His scouts had observed an increase in traffic in and out of the city, mostly native Reachfolk and a few Orcs, but no official word from the king himself.

It was driving Ulfric crazy, and he was half tempted to get over there himself if it wouldn’t look like an admission of weakness on his part. As it was, Sister Hamal wanting to explore why he felt that going to visit his lover made him look weak might drive him to Markarth anyway.

Thankfully, the announcement that a party of Reachfolk, an official looking one at that, was approaching served to distract him.

Ulfric went to see them, and it was with a little thrill in his chest that he realised this was no ordinary party.

The ReachGuard in front entered the camp, two columns marching in step before turning to face each other and stepping back with a salute, and at the end of the corridor, the one they were guarding emerged.

Madanach himself, in his own armour, circlet on his head and war axe at his belt, with more guards at his back, all wearing fur and bone armour. Apart from one woman, taller than the rest, dressed in scaled gear. A Nord, he had a Nord in his personal entourage, and that could only be one person – his former Nord mistress, mother of his illegitimate son.

Ulfric gritted his teeth, because he saw she was pretty, maybe only a year or two older than him, and he wanted her far away from his husband-to-be… but as the mother of his future heir, he would have to deal with her. Damn it.

But Madanach was here, and Madanach was looking healthy and Madanach was back at something close to fighting condition, and Ulfric suddenly wanted very much to drag him back to his tent and do things to him.

He settled for a hug, striding forward and pulling Madanach into his arms before the other man could even get a word out. By Talos, he’d missed the man. He’d not realised how much until he saw him again.

Madanach had made some surprised muffled noise but after a few seconds, tentatively raised his arms to wrap round Ulfric’s waist and started to snuggle in, seeming a bit surprised… but pleased.

It was a pity the rest of his entourage didn’t take it quite so well, because the sound of synchronised stoneflesh spells and what sounded like the drawing of swords was not what Ulfric wanted to hear, and sure enough, he looked up to see Madanach’s guards with sword and spell at the ready, and the Nord woman with a Daedric bow raised, a black arrow aimed right at his face.

“Get your hands off him, Stormcloak,” she said coldly, and beside her, another man stepped forward, a Reachman with silver hair and strange golden eyes, also armed with Daedric weaponry.

“Commander Stormcloak, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to put the Reach-King down. We’re not at the stage of negotiations where you can just manhandle him freely yet.”

Ulfric narrowed his eyes but he did release Madanach, one arm still round his shoulders.

“I’m marrying him, Reachman, I hope you’re not going to intervene then?”

“If I have to,” the Reachman said, folding his arms. “If my King needs me to.”

“He does not-” Ulfric began, and then he was aware of magic slowly rising from somewhere, magic sapping his belligerence and will to fight, and not just his because all the Reachmen were lowering their weapons, as was their Nord collaborator.

“Right now, I need you all to put your weapons away and relax,” Madanach said, lifting his face from Ulfric’s chest and turning to face his people, and it was his bloody magic calming everyone down, Ulfric just knew it. “Ulfric here meant no harm by it, did you, my friend? He’d just missed me, that’s all.”

Damn cheeky witchman – Ulfric found himself opening his mouth to deny it, but somehow the calm spell had eased his mental filters away along with his anger.

“Yes, I missed you, where have you been, man?” Ulfric said, and to his horror he realised he might be pouting.

Madanach and Sister Hamal between them were going to ruin his reputation at this rate, and never mind that that smile on Madanach’s face was actually seriously cute.

“I’m very sorry, cariad, I was very busy setting my capital to rights and ensuring all was well in the rest of the kingdom,” Madanach told him, patting his arm. “But I was thinking about you! I just didn’t want to impose until you’d started getting this place in order – you’ve done quite a bit already, I see!”

The smithy was up and running, and a stables too, and the sauna, and some sort of fishery on the Karth, and something in the way of fortifications, and the next big project would be the longhouse and then a barracks so they didn’t have to sleep under canvas any more, but it definitely had the beginnings of a small town.

“We’re Nords,” Ulfric said proudly. “We’re not afraid of hard work, and my men are skilled.”

“Why’d they never do their own smelting and mining then,” one of the ReachGuard muttered, at least until Madanach’s yellow-eyed bodyguard hushed him. Ulfric elected to ignore it. This time.

“Well, I’m impressed,” Madanach told him, only sparing one annoyed glance for the guard who’d spoken out of turn and who was probably going to be unceremoniously kicked out of the royal guard and into latrine-cleaning duty if Ulfric was any judge. “I’d had reports, but we thought we’d come and see how you were getting on personally. Ulfric, this is my commander of the guard, Uailon ap Uaiseth, and this would be Inga Fair-Shot, Marquise of Markarth, also known as the one the citizens complain to when I’m being a pain in their collective rear ends.”

Giggling from behind Madanach, and Inga herself was pursing her lips and glaring at him but not actually contradicting any of that, and while Ulfric had a feeling he’d just felt obliged to gift his ex-mistress _(she’d better be an ex)_ with a title, it wasn’t a bad move to have an outlet in place for the frustrations of his non-Reachman people. 

It had never occurred to Ulfric to ever do that in Windhelm when he was Jarl. He wondered if he should start. Maybe he should ask his father what he thought.

He exchanged greetings with Inga and Uailon, neither exactly looking friendly but at least not overtly hostile. It’d do for now, he supposed, and if Uailon dealt with security matters, he probably wasn’t paid to be friendly.

And then Madanach stepped aside and looked down, and as Ulfric followed his gaze, he saw what he’d not noticed before – three children peeping out from behind their father, two girls and a boy, all looking aged between eight and eleven. Madanach had brought his older kids with him.

“And then there’s these three,” Madanach continued, a certain nervousness creeping into his voice, as if this was the bit he’d really worried about. “They’re my kids. Some of them. This is Eithne, my eldest and the future Queen of the Reach, and she’s ten years old. Say hello, Eithne.”

Eithne, dressed in a version of the Forsworn tribal gear that covered more flesh than most of the grown women liked to wear, about the same height as her father’s shoulder, with short blonde hair, silver-blue eyes just like her father’s, in fact, looking just like him except skinnier and with a more feminine cast to her face, stepped forward, and she was not smiling. She was in fact glaring stubbornly at him, and Ulfric knew deep in his heart that this one, this was the one that was going to be trouble.

“You are _not_ my father,” Eithne informed him, folding her arms, face set in an expression that Ulfric was sure he’d seen on Madanach before now, and it hadn’t boded well then either. Still, if he wasn’t her father, that also meant the discipline problems weren’t his either.

“I know, he is,” Ulfric said, indicating Madanach with a nod. “Means if you misbehave, I’ll just haul you in front of him and let him sort it out. I set the rules in this settlement, your father sets the laws of the Reach and rules for his children in particular. I’ll enforce either when required. You do not have to like me, but I do expect children to show respect for their elders. Do we understand each other?”

Eithne raised her eyebrows and glanced up at her father, who’d mirrored her posture exactly, possibly without realising it.

“He’s not allowed to hit you, but don’t think you won’t be in trouble if you’re rude to him or decide the usual rules somehow don’t apply even when my back’s turned,” Madanach said firmly, and Eithne huffed a bit but did not argue, turning back to Ulfric.

“If you hit me, I will set fire to you,” Eithne said firmly. “Don’t think I won’t, Nord!”

Ulfric almost said the first thing that came to his head, but his time with Sister Hamal had not been wasted, and he bit his lip and counted quietly to five, reminding himself she was ten and not yet a credible threat. And then it occurred to him that Madanach had implied Mireen had been the worst kind of evil parent, and it was just possible being beaten for no good reason had been a routine part of Eithne’s life whenever Madanach wasn’t there, and it might just be that this ten year old had no intention of anyone ever hurting her like that again, and didn’t standing up to him and setting the boundaries require a certain strength of spirit?

“I believe you, little fire witch,” Ulfric said, not quite repressing a smile. “You will receive no beatings from me, that is a promise. In return, you will not set fire to me, any of my people or any of the buildings here. Do we have an understanding?”

Eithne blinked, looking rather surprised and then nodded once, holding out her hand.

“Means she wants to shake hands to seal the deal,” Madanach prompted, on seeing Ulfric hesitating, and Ulfric vaguely recalled Imperials sealing business deals with a handshake too. So he knelt down, took her hand, shook it once and patted her right shoulder with his free hand.

Eithne blinked, looked a bit surprised and then tentatively patted Ulfric on his arm in return – the forearm rather than the shoulder. She couldn’t reach any further. Ulfric just about contained his amusement.

“Why were you attacking us?” Eithne then asked, and that did wipe the smile off Ulfric’s face. Mercifully, he’d had this conversation before at least.

“I was told you were bad people and was promised a great reward if I took the Reach back for the Nords,” Ulfric admitted, simplifying matters a little, but using the same line he’d used with Rhianna the Reach-ghost. At least Eithne probably wouldn’t start causing poltergeist activity. “However, it became clear I had been lied to, and your father has made me a better offer, so I have chosen to change sides.”

“You’re marrying him,” Eithne said, letting his hand go, her defensiveness returning, and Ulfric bit back an annoyed sigh. Honestly, he’d already promised not to hit her.

“Yes,” Ulfric said shortly. “He’s attractive. What of it.”

“Ma only just died,” Eithne said, frowning. “Your soldiers killed her. You… you’d better be nice to him!”

“Eithne,” Madanach cut in, his own expression the mirror of hers. “Eithne, it’s appreciated but this is not your concern, inyeen.”

“She was horrible to you!” Eithne cried, turning to her father. “It’s better without her! I’m glad she’s gone, and I don’t want him to hurt you again!”

“ _Eithne!_ ” Madanach snapped, finger raised in warning. “We will have this conversation _later._ ”

Eithne glared, and clearly intended to hold her father to his promise, but she did drop the subject… mostly.

“You’d better be nice to him,” Eithne said stubbornly, retreating to stand next to her father.

“I will,” Ulfric promised, and then he noticed the other two children still staring at him. One little girl, with pale hair that looked like it had been cut short relatively recently and was being grown out again, and big blue eyes staring pensively up at Ulfric, wearing a blue cotton dress with flowers embroidered on the sleeves and clutching a blonde doll in her hands. And one boy, taller than Eithne and more stockily built too, brown hair like Inga’s but Madanach’s eyes and his hair was down to his chin with braids just like his father’s. He had his arm protectively round his little sister.

“Go on, Ama, say hello. I got your back,” he said quietly to her, and the little girl, presumably Amaleen, stepped forward nervously.

“Hello,” Amaleen whispered shyly, clutching her doll.

Definitely a different personality to her sister, and Madanach was approaching, clearly taking a less hands-off approach to his second daughter as he knelt by her side.

“This is Ulfric, little one,” he said gently to her. “You remember I told you about him before?”

Amaleen nodded and Madanach stroked her hair before looking up at Ulfric. 

“This one’s Amaleen,” Madanach explained. “She’s seven and a half. She’s a bit shy around new people, also I suspect Eithne’s constant complaining has unnerved her a bit. But she’s a good kid.”

Amaleen was peeping out from behind her doll, edging closer to her father and Ulfric found himself feeling rather protective of her.

“Glad to hear it, little one,” Ulfric said, grinning at her. “You weren’t thinking of setting fire to anything, I trust?”

Amaleen shook her head fervently.

“No, I’m better at frost magic,” Amaleen announced, heedless of her father sighing heavily.

“And because setting fire to things is naughty and you shouldn’t do it,” Madanach reminded her, and Amaleen nodded as if that had been what she meant to say all along.

Ulfric was slowly beginning to realise that Madanach’s kids were mages, or would be, and the prospect of raising four little mages who could set fire to things with their minds was a daunting one indeed.

_Keep calm. You can do this. They spend most of their time in Markarth, the city is made of stone, Madanach must know how to train them._

_They’re armed and dangerous already, and they’re not even adults. Kyne help me._

And as if on cue, the voice he’d come to think of as the Voice of Kyne whispered that he’d learnt Unrelenting Force by his mid-teens, and that was no less dangerous. He’d have strong stepchildren. Something to be proud of, hmm?

Perhaps. He supposed he’d get used to it. And then Amaleen was running off to find her sister and the final child was being beckoned forward, Madanach suddenly getting nervous as he introduced what must be his Nord son. 

Argis, who looked just like his mother on first glance but on the second, had a lot of Madanach’s features. Who was dressed in a simple leather jerkin, leggings and fur boots, but they were new ones, unmarked by stains or tears or patches, and who’d styled his hair on his father’s and was wearing a necklace consisting of a leather thong threaded through a sabre tooth and some leather bracelets with bone and feathers on them, all of which was clearly modelled on Reachman styles. He was a strong and healthy Nord boy of about ten years, but he’d been living under Reachman rule for two years and he was clearly being influenced by them. 

Finding out their king was his father had doubtless only encouraged him. He was certainly looking to his father for cues… and Madanach’s confidence had faltered. His daughters were his alone… but his son, he’d sworn to share.

“And this is Argis,” Madanach said softly. “My… my son. I wasn’t married to his mother, and he’s half-Nord, but he’s mine. We did blood tests before we made the announcements. He’s my ten year old son. And he’s agreed to be Jarl of Windhelm one day. Argis, this is Ulfric.”

Argis’s fists were clenching and unclenching and he looked a bit worried… but didn’t flinch away.

“Sir,” Argis said, voice quiet. “Da told me you don’t have kids so I have to be yours and be Jarl after you.”

“Joint parenting,” Madanach said firmly, before anyone else interrupted, and Inga had drawn nearer too, hand on her son’s back, eyes boring into Ulfric. “Argis remains living in Markarth until he comes of age, and all parenting decisions will be shared between the three of us.”

“You behave towards him in a way I don’t like and Eithne setting fire to you will be the least of your worries, Stormcloak,” Inga said vehemently, and with that bow, Ulfric believed it.

Galmar believed it too, because he’d gone for his axe.

“Mind your tongue, _Marquise,_ ” Galmar snarled. “You’re talking to a Jarl’s son, and one who can trace his line back to Ysgramor’s day!”

“And now he needs my son to continue it, so you be quiet, ortalan,” Inga snapped, a Reachman word falling into her speech without her even thinking about it, and her guards were stepping forward too… and Ulfric realised that despite the Reachman gear, two of them were actually young Nords.

“Galmar, back off,” Ulfric said, waving his housecarl back. “She’s protecting her son, that’s all. Mistress Fair-Shot, you have Nords in your entourage?”

“They distinguished themselves during the siege,” Inga said, rather smugly. “Madanach said he’d get me my own guards, so I recruited Frabbi and Arnbjorn here. Although I think I may have cost Frabbi her boyfriend, and Jorrvaskr a good warrior, but they seem happy enough.”

“Kleppr didn’t like the idea of a wife who earned more than he did and who could fight,” Frabbi said, shrugging. “I don’t care, I’d rather be guarding a marquise than waiting tables in that inn of his.”

“Technically it’s the king’s,” Arnbjorn grinned. “But yeah, I could go push people around for the Companions, or I can do the same in Markarth as the Marquise’s housecarl. Rather be a housecarl than a merc.”

“If you don’t want him pushing you around, you’ll be nice to my son,” Inga said, looking very proud of her two proteges. Privately, Ulfric knew damn well he was more than a match for either of them, but it seemed wrong to crush their spirits. They had potential and they’d do fine as guards for a ten year old – besides, the rest of Inga’s retinue were Reachkin and looking rather more experienced. It would be good for young Argis to absorb at least some Nordic culture, because right now all the influence seemed to be going the other way. 

So Ulfric promised to behave and turned his attention to the boy, who had been watching all this, not looking encouraged by any of it.

“Do I have to call you Da?” Argis asked pensively, and Ulfric couldn't quite stop himself flinching. Reachmen called their fathers that. For Nords it was Papa, and for Ulfric it was far too soon.

“Ulfric will do, lad,” Ulfric told him. “I haven’t even married your father yet. Time enough for that. For now it’s enough to know there’ll be a Stormcloak on the throne of Windhelm after me. Tell me, do I need to worry about you setting fire to things as well?”

“Ma and Da won’t let me have a tinderbox of my own yet,” Argis said sadly, scuffing his feet. “They say I don’t need one.”

Praise Talos, the boy couldn't do magic. Ulfric could almost weep from pleasure, but the sad look on the boy’s face stopped him from looking too happy.

“Well, maybe when you’re a bit older I’ll teach you how to build a campfire, and if you can look after one of those, perhaps I’ll get you one,” Ulfric promised, and Argis’s face lit up.

“Really?” Argis gasped. “I could have one?”

“They’re a useful tool, I don’t see why not,” Ulfric said, not bothering to hide his smile and whether it was at Argis’s delight or Madanach’s annoyance, he wasn’t sure.

“I find you misusing it, it’s getting taken off you,” Madanach said darkly, glaring at Ulfric, and Inga was also frowning.

“And you’re going to learn how to light a fire safely first,” she added, being almost certainly not a mage either, and likely reliant on her own.

“Yes, Ma,” Argis agreed, but his eyes never left Ulfric, and Ulfric realised this might just work.

“Good lad,” Ulfric laughed. “I take it you’ve not learnt magic? Are you going to?”

“I tried. It doesn’t stick,” Argis said, face falling. “I tried the exercises but they don’t work. I wanted to be a battlemage like Da, but...”

Madanach rubbed his son’s back, all sympathy for his son.

“I still love you, even without magic,” Madanach told him. It didn’t seem to cheer Argis up much, and Ulfric could feel his own irritation rising.

“Ah, magic’s not the be all and end all,” Ulfric said, shrugging. “I manage. You will too… and you can be a mighty Nordic warrior instead. Ysgramor could barely cast a spell, all Nords still tell tales of him.”

“Ma’s told me a bit,” Argis whispered. “And Ogmund the bard in the inn. And there’s books… I’m still not that good at reading them but I’m getting better!”

Ulfric couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at a ten year old struggling with reading, and it was Inga who looked defensive and Madanach patting his son’s shoulder.

“Your reading is fine,” Madanach told him. “And you’re getting better every time I hear you do it. You’re a bright kid and you learn fast and you will get the hang of it. Now why don’t you go see what your sisters are up to – oh by Sithis.”

There was the sound of a firebolt, and then several Stormcloaks cheering, and two of them lifting up the charred corpse of a mudcrab, and Galmar congratulating Eithne on her kill.

Eithne looked very pleased with herself, and Amaleen was cuddling her, and one of Ulfric’s soldiers had cheerfully announced it’d be roast mudcrab tonight, and Madanach was running his fingers through his hair as if this situation was a source of great stress to him.

“Eithne, did you lob a firebolt at that mudcrab?” Madanach asked, sounding as if every word pained him on the way out. Eithne nodded, a bit too enthusiastically, before noting her father’s distress and putting on her most heartfelt expression.

“It was going for Amaleen, Da!” she protested, and Amaleen nodded, clinging to Eithne and looking adoringly up at her.

“What, and I missed it??” Argis cried, disappointed. Eithne just grinned.

“I didn’t,” she said triumphantly. “Da, does this count as the Rite of Sithis?”

Madanach bit his lip and whimpered, because it definitely did, but Eithne was only ten and not remotely ready in his opinion.

“What in Oblivion is the Rite of Sithis?” Ulfric asked, shooting a dangerous look at Madanach, and given his king’s distress, Uailon answered instead.

“It’s one of the two coming of age rites among tribal Reachfolk,” Uailon told him, clearly finding the whole situation hilarious. “You’re not really meant to start them until age sixteen, but they are to do with understanding life and death. The Rite of Anu is life and represents the start of the cycle, and the Rite of Sithis is to do with ending a life. I guess little Eithne just got one of them.”

“Anyone tries the other with her, I’m putting an axe through the bastard’s head myself,” Madanach growled, which told Ulfric all he needed to know about that one.

“I’ll have the word put out,” Uailon promised, amused.

“I will give you a hand with the beheading if you need it,” Ulfric offered, and Madanach did smile a little at that.

“I knew there was something about you I liked,” Madanach laughed, perking up a little. “All right, Eithne, yes you got your rite, well done, why don’t you tell Argis the story, eh?”

“Mudcrab went for Ama. I firebolted it. It died,” Eithne said, scratching her head, and Argis threw up his hands in frustration, being far more Nordic than he let on.

“No, that’s not how you tell a story, you’ve got to make it dramatic!” Argis sighed. “Like this… so there we were, me and little Amaleen, relaxing by the river, next to this rock… until all of a sudden, it came to life, springing out of the shadows…!”

“You are such a drama queen,” Eithne said, but she’d settled onto a rock to listen anyway, along with an enthralled Amaleen, and a few Stormcloaks who were also keen to either listen or get out of doing any work.

Leaving Ulfric with Madanach and no children to distract him. Hmm. He’d only brought three of them.

“You did not bring the other two,” he said, suddenly starting to worry. Little Eola had been tiny, underfed, fragile… what if she’d not made it. What if she wasn’t all right. What if that tiny baby was never going to giggle and smile at him again. What if…

_What in the name of Talos is wrong with you, pull yourself together._

This was either Sister Hamal’s fault or Madanach’s, he wasn’t sure which. He glanced angrily up at Madanach, ready to snap at him… and saw him looking a bit confused and certainly not as if he’d just lost a child.

“I didn’t fancy travelling with a four year old and a baby as well as those three, so they’re back in the city – Eola’s got a replacement wet nurse now, although she’s also kind of weaned by this point, and Nepos has a real soft spot for Kaie. They’re doing really well though – putting on weight, eating well, healers say they’re all going to be fine, and we found the key to getting Eola to eat anything. Meat broth, you just pour broth made from meat on anything, and she’ll completely devour it, you should see the way her little face lights up, it’s the cutest thing ever...” Madanach stopped, looking a little embarrassed at himself – and then he caught Ulfric's eye and saw the relief on his face. “Wait, were you worried? You were afraid something had happened to her?”

“No,” Ulfric said, cursing himself for not only worrying but for letting Madanach see it, and for not being able to properly hide it even now. “I only saw the child once. Why would she matter to me?”

Madanach didn’t bother arguing, just smirking back at him rather too smugly for Ulfric’s liking.

“Well, she’s fine, so you can stop not-worrying about her,” Madanach laughed. “Anyway, never mind the kids. I got you a present!”

Madanach had turned, beckoning for some of his entourage to bring something forward, and one young Reachwoman turned up with an ornate chest… and behind her, a group consisting of two Briarhearts, a few Nords and some Orcs were bringing forward something vaguely humanoid, wrapped in cloth and looking like it weighed a ton and had just been loaded off the cart at the back of the line.

“What have you got me?” Ulfric asked, taking the chest off the unsmiling warrior who’d handed it to him, and setting it down, wondering what on earth was in it. 

“Oh you know, we had it lying around in a cupboard, taking up space, we’ve got no use for it so we thought you might as well have it...” Madanach’s voice sounded a bit too forced for Ulfric’s liking, but he opened the chest anyway… and saw a shrine to Talos staring back at him.

“Where did you get this??” he asked, astonished as he lifted it up and held it for his men to see. Gasps all round from his side… and stony silence from the Reachmen, all of whom looked vaguely nauseated. 

“It was set up in Markarth when we took the city – we, er, removed it not long after I took power,” Madanach said, looking somewhat awkward. “Turns out the shrine itself’s made of dragonbone and pretty much impervious to anything, magical or mundane, so we just put it away. Seeing as you’re here and willing to abide by our laws and settle peacefully, you might as well have it.”

A shrine to Talos. Still surviving, and still there, after all this time under witchman rule. They’d not been able to bring one initially – supplies had taken precedence and Ulfric had decided they’d send for one once they’d settled down. To have the one from Markarth gifted to them as an offering – Ulfric wasn’t blind to the symbolism.

“Thank you,” he said softly, not quite able to fight off the emotion, and something that sounded partly like Kyne, partly like Sister Hamal and partly like Matriarch Keirine told him there, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

“You’re welcome,” Madanach said gently, coming to stand next to him and squeezing his shoulder.

“Where did they want the statue?” one of the Reachmen called to Madanach, and Ulfric realised then what the covered item was.

“You brought the statue as well?” Ulfric asked, surprised. “I would have thought you people would have destroyed it.”

“Er...” Madanach said, scratching his cheek and looking rather awkward. “It’s… mostly intact? We restored it and everything, can hardly see the cracks, got most of the stains off, repainted it...”

“What did you do to it??” Galmar roared, stepping forward and ripping the covers off, and to the Reachmen’s credit, it was not as bad as feared. Still recognisably Talos, even painted to look lifelike and the armour lined with shiny gold enchanted paint. But the helm’s points were damaged, one knocked off, and the sword was chipped, and if you looked closely at the feet, it became obvious that the statue had been hacked off its original plinth none too gently and the feet had had to be reattached.

“Do we want to know the indignities you inflicted on this statue?” Ulfric asked, eyeing Madanach and guessing only too well what sort of thing the Reachmen might have got up to.

“Um,” was all Madanach said, and Inga was hissing at him that she told him he should have put an illusion on it, and as the two of them started to get into an argument about the merits and limits of illusion magic, the mood started to turn ugly.

“I ought to have your heads right now!” Galmar roared, and several Stormcloaks nearby were agreeing with him, and weapons on both sides were being drawn… and once perhaps Ulfric might have led the fight himself, Shouting Madanach down and killing him before he could get a ward up… but he saw the children out of the corner of his eye, Argis shielding his sisters, and he knew the kids would be the first cut down in a fight. 

_Eithne is a warrior as fierce as any Nord, Amaleen is an innocent who does not deserve to die, I’ve held Eola in my arms and would not see her orphaned and Argis… Argis is my son now._

Ulfric looked down at the scarred and battered statue and it occurred to him it wasn’t a bad metaphor for the state of Talos worship at the moment.

“We will accept the statue,” Ulfric announced, projecting his voice and staring particularly pointedly at Galmar. “Even in its battered state. We shall give it a new pedestal and display it with pride. It shall be a symbol of resistance to the Thalmor, a sign that despite his own Empire betraying him, Talos worship is not dead. That despite the attacks of his enemies, Talos survives and his spirit endures! Get this statue a new plinth with the shrine attached and let Lortheim reconsecrate it in the name of Talos Defiant, Bloodied But Not Beaten, heroically resisting the Thalmor plague, given sanctuary by the grace of his former foes, now reconciled as friends against a common enemy after his once-loyal Empire knifed him in the back!”

That never failed to get a cheer, and his men gathered round, picked up the statue and carted it off for the attention of the Stormcloaks’ engineering and masonry specialists. The Reachmen had been just another job, a means to an end really, but what really knitted the Stormcloaks together, what had been the core recruiting tool, had been resentment against the Empire and the hated Concordat and the eventual goal of fighting back against the Thalmor and being able to worship Talos again.

Allying with Madanach represented the best chance of that Ulfric had seen yet, and damned if he was throwing that away because the Reachmen had got a bit carried away in the aftermath of victory.

Even the Reachmen looked a bit impressed at that, albeit mostly relieved that they weren’t getting killed today, and it occurred to Ulfric that they’d not heard him give a speech before. He’d need to to do that again, because Madanach was looking at him in a way that suggested courtship had just advanced significantly. Ulfric grinned and held out a hand to him, and Madanach drew nearer, smiling a little, and not objecting at all as Ulfric wrapped an arm round his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. 

Ulfric watched with some surprise as Madanach wrapped an arm round his waist and nestled in to him, and this was new, this was a far cry from the arguing and posturing and tentative touches of affection that had marked their last meeting. This was something else. This was Madanach touching him freely and affectionately, in public and seeming to like it.

Ulfric didn’t entirely know what had caused this, but he had not a single problem with this development at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

An hour or so later and the statue and shrine were up, Lortheim had done a short ceremony rededicating it to Talos the Defiant, Bloodied But Not Beaten, with a few words on the need to let old grudges go and reconcile with old foes when more dangerous new ones appeared, and the gathering had dispersed, what with the Nords breaking the mead open, and then the Reachmen all looking hopefully at both the river and their king.

“Let me guess, you all want a swim,” Madanach sighed, and quite honestly he didn’t trust Eithne not to push her sister into the Karth in order to have an excuse to dive in after her (or get Argis to do it).

Eager nods all round, and seeing as it was a warm day and half the Nords had managed to lose their shirts already (and not a hint of sun salve anywhere, some of them were already starting to go pink), Madanach gave in and went upstream to cast Wall of Fire on the Karth.

Cheering from the Reach contingent and soon the river was full of people playing in it, and Madanach had settled down by the river to watch, the guards that weren’t in the river lazing around at a discreet distance, and when Ulfric approached with two bottles of mead, Madanach didn’t turn him away. 

“So that didn’t go too badly,” Madanach remarked, smiling as he opened the mead. “I think the kids like you? You treated Eithne like an adult… or someone worthy of respect and negotiating with. She’ll like that, although she probably won’t admit it.”

Ulfric shrugged, something in him stopping him showing how much he’d liked the praise. Which was ridiculous, he should be able to look pleased when someone praised him. Damn it. Sister Hamal would probably want to know about this, wouldn't she. Damn her.

“She’s your heir, can use magic and will be an adult all too soon,” Ulfric said, sipping his mead. “All the more reason to tread carefully.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me, I didn’t even know she knew Firebolt,” Madanach shivered. “I’m having a conversation with her magic tutor when I get back. I’ve been wrapped up in the siege and aftermath and everything… by Sithis, she was probably learning more advanced Destruction magic in case you invaded. Should perhaps have seen that coming… but that’s Eithne for you. She doesn’t really think of herself as a child, just a small adult.”

Neither man cared to think too long on why Eithne might have grown up so fast. Her life had not been an easy one so far and Madanach wasn’t completely without blame there. Then again, he’d not been the one besieging her home.

“So how’s Markarth doing?” Ulfric asked. “Is the city… recovering?”

Guilt that wouldn’t go away over the thought of what he’d done to that city, and not all the shouting at his men and talks with Sister Hamal would help with this. _Go on, shout at me, tell me you hate me, I deserve it, don’t I? Don’t sit here with me drinking my mead and being nice to me._

Madanach appeared blissfully unaware of any of this, staring into space as if he’d not actually stopped to think about any of this before.

“Believe it or not, yeah, it’s looking really good!” Madanach said, sounding stunned and amazed at how well things had gone. “I sent messengers out on day one, to my sister, to the rest of the kingdom, just rounding up spare supplies, calling in a few favours, that sort of thing. And I sent word to the Western Reachmen, promising gold and jewels for food, could they buy extra off the Bretons for me?”

“And did they?” Ulfric asked, remembering the Westerners who’d brought them building supplies. “I know some of them did come to visit.”

“Some – _some_ of them?” Madanach laughed. “Ulfric, they heard the story and before we even knew what had hit us, half the Western Reach was over here, bringing food, supplies, potions, all sorts. They’d not believed we’d ever get to keep our kingdom, see. They’d spent the last two years thinking it was going to end in tears. Then they found out we’d broken the siege, come to terms with the Nords, even formed an alliance. It gave them hope, you see. Hope they might have their own kingdom one day. I had five different chiefs from the Western Reach in tears in my keep, shaking my hand and treating me like I’m some sort of hero. Three of them took the opportunity to sort out decades-long feuds with each other! All of them spat on the idea of taking gold for aid, and insisted that it was a gift, in repayment for the one I’d given them. That _I’d_ given _them??_ I don’t… I don’t understand it, Ulfric, but I will take it.”

Ulfric edged nearer because he knew the meaning at once. What were Nords without tales of Ysgramor, of Talos, of the mysterious Dragonborn, of the Tongues who’d seen off Alduin? What were Nords without their stories, their heroes?

Perhaps the Reachmen needed stories and heroes too, ones that didn’t involve them getting conquered and losing. Perhaps Madanach didn’t realise it yet, but he might be about to go down in history as the Reachman king who founded a permanent kingdom.

Ulfric realised that being part of the Reachmen’s story, being a part of the legend that founded an entire country, was something that not only appealed, it was actually bringing tears to his eyes.

“Come here, you majestic bastard,” Ulfric said gruffly, reaching out an arm and pulling Madanach to him, wrapping his arms around the surprised Reach-King and kissing his forehead as he cuddled him.

“By Kynareth, not you as well,” Madanach managed to get out. “Ulfric, please don’t cry, that’d just be _weird._ ”

Ulfric kissed him again, grinning and not caring who saw.

“I am betrothed to a hero, no, a legend. A Nord cannot do better in their choice of partner. I… I am proud of you.”

“Oh,” Madanach whispered, sounding surprised and touched and a bit emotional himself, and presently snuggled up to his husband to be and not looking at all heroic or legendary. “Really?”

“Yes. Really,” Ulfric promised. “Your name will go down in legend, among your people anyway. If I have my way, bards might be singing our praises on both sides of the border.”

Madanach tightened his grip on Ulfric, seeming almost embarrassed by the praise.

“That’s not why… I didn’t do it for me!” he heard Madanach gasp. “I wanted justice for my father, and for that not to happen to anyone else’s family. It was about freedom for the Reach, not fame and fortune for me!”

“You truly don’t care how you’re remembered?” Ulfric asked, sceptical at best about that, and Madanach shifted uncomfortably.

“I never thought about it,” Madanach whispered, and Ulfric heard the surprise and genuine shyness there and believed him. It was the first time he’d ever seen the man like this, and he started to realise where Amaleen got it from. Which might be something to tell her if she was ever worried about being small and afraid. Ulfric filed it away for later use and focused his attention on the man he was now very sure he wanted to spend a lot of time spoiling and fussing over.

“Nords think of little else,” Ulfric told him. “Never mind gold, I care about the name I leave behind me more.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to realise that,” Madanach said, amusement creeping into his voice as he lifted his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a mention. I already told all the Western chiefs about the handsome and fierce Nord warrior, strongest of them all, who came to Markarth intending to overthrow me and instead realised he couldn’t live without me.”

Madanach’s usual cocky smile was back, and Ulfric was torn between admitting there was truth to this and wanting to wipe that grin very firmly off the man’s face by reducing him to a breathless, pleading wreck.

Well, he couldn't do that in the open, but he could at least make the most of the moment, and so Ulfric grinned, leaned down and kissed Madanach, not caring who saw, not caring about what they thought. He had a lover, and said lover was a fierce warrior and a mighty king. And Madanach was moaning softly, squirming in Ulfric’s arms, arms round him and kissing him back, actually keening as Ulfric's fingers snaked into his hair and grabbed hold of it.

Ulfric eventually broke off the kiss, gasping for breath as he held Madanach, who was clinging on to him and shivering. 

“You’re going to have Uailon threatening to kill you again,” Madanach whispered, voice still shaky and Ulfric didn’t care if it meant he got to break through Madanach’s usual demeanour.

“Let him try,” Ulfric murmured. “You’re going to be my husband, he can’t keep us apart forever.”

Madanach shivered in his arms, but did not let go, and Ulfric had to wonder at this. On the one hand, Madanach didn’t seem to want to leave and seemed to enjoy cuddling him, and he’d certainly responded enthusiastically to the kissing. But on the other, Ulfric was sure that Madanach seemed awfully nervous. He was fairly certain lovers weren’t supposed to feel quite like this, especially not experienced fathers of five who’d been married before.

Perhaps that was the problem. He recalled Eithne’s outburst of earlier, and while Madanach had been furious, the girl likely hadn’t lied.

_I couldn't bear to have anyone touch me for weeks after Elenwen._

And unless it was very firmly on his own terms, he still couldn't. And while he found women attractive, he didn’t think he could cope with one touching him. Sister Hamal had offered a massage at one point and he’d almost fallen over trying to get away. Which had led to the inevitable exploration of his feelings, but they’d at least manage to work out that whispered feminine crooning and gentle touching made Ulfric fear the worst, fear what might be coming, that fundamentally he didn’t trust it. He’d lost his mother young, not had any sisters or aunts or a grandmother, had been raised by monks, then served in the Legion and engaged with women primarily as fellow Legionnaires, with their gender irrelevant. He could relate to them as fellow warriors but on a more intimate level, he’d always been a bit at a loss as to how to deal with them. You could hardly Shout a woman into submission, not without making her cry and then there’d be an entire community looking at you like you were some sort of monster and her kin turning up with battleaxes. And then Elenwen had happened and Ulfric had slowly come to realise that if he lowered his barriers around one, there was a real risk he’d lash out one day without meaning to and quite possibly kill her. It had been a wound and a quiet fear he’d carried around for the past year, swearing he’d keep it under control with Talos’s help… but it had cost him many sleepless nights, and only recently had he finally admitted it to Sister Hamal, told her everything, and nearly cried when she’d told him she could help. That there were ways to calm himself and direct the fear away so he didn’t hurt anyone.

He was still working on it. It was taking time, and there were these daily breathing exercises and affirmations and therapeutic exercises involving approaching his female soldiers and just making small talk with them. It was excruciatingly uncomfortable but Ulfric gritted his teeth and worked through it, because damned if he was running away from a fight, even against his own mind.

Madanach had had his own personal Elenwen for years, had had children at risk from her, hadn’t had the faintest hope of rescue. Ulfric couldn’t begin to imagine how he must be feeling. Relieved, most like. But it must have left scars.

“We do not need to rush things,” Ulfric murmured, even though everything in him was shouting why not, why not get married quickly, what if one of them died?? “You only just lost your wife. You should not be marrying again too soon.”

The right thing to have said because Madanach seemed to relax and start cuddling wholeheartedly again.

“We don’t need to rush?” Madanach whispered. Ulfric stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head.

“We do not,” Ulfric told him. “Besides, I have a feeling our kin will want a say first. I have written to my father. I believe the news will bring him sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll have the border guards on watch for him,” Madanach promised. “Make sure they don’t see a Nord Jarl and his men and get jumpy. Do you take after him at all?”

“In looks, yes, in personality, not so much,” Ulfric admitted, honestly starting to worry about his father’s reaction to all this. “He’s a skilled warrior but he’s also a man of peace. If you can avoid antagonising him, he might even like you.”

That did make Madanach laugh.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour,” he promised. “I hope you’ve said nice things about me?”

“I told him that you had a reputation for being a cunning and devious wizard with a talent for wild and dangerous magic, and that that was entirely true,” Ulfric said, wishing he’d kept a copy of the letter so he could remember the exact words, because he’d poured heart and soul into it and he knew damn well it was one of his better efforts. It should be considering he’d spent three days writing it, gone through an entire stack of paper and likely bored Galmar to tears what with testing it on him to hear his reaction.

“Oh gods,” was Madanach’s only reaction. “Should I make them hand their weapons in at the border?? Have the conversation from the top of Understone’s balcony? He doesn’t have the Thu’um as well, does he?”

Perish the thought. Ulfric kissed Madanach’s cheek again and rubbed his back.

“Hardly. It’s not hereditary, Madanach. I had to leave home age seven to learn it. It took years and I mastered precisely two full Shouts before I left to serve my Empire. I saw my father briefly before leaving for Cyrodiil. He was… he had missed me, yes, but he had not expected to see me again. I wasn’t supposed to return, you see. I was supposed to be a Greybeard, one of the order of monks that practice the Thu’um. They remain in their monastery. It is a lifelong calling. So while he was pleased to see me, he was also disappointed. And I fear every battle I fight disappoints him further. He believed he was giving up his son for the greater glory of Kyne, and here I am, not doing that. In his eyes, not being able to see me grow up was a worthy sacrifice if I was serving the Divines as a Greybeard. Not so much if I’m using the Greybeards’ teachings on my enemies as I lead Nords to battle.”

Not that it mattered. In Ulfric’s mind, he’d done the right thing in coming down off the mountain. The world had needed him. Likely it still did. The Thu’um was Kyne’s gift to protect humanity, it was no use to anyone up on the Throat of the World. The disappointment and sadness in his father’s eyes every time he looked at Ulfric was a necessary price to be paid.

Which was why it unnerved him more than a little to see Madanach staring up at him, horrified.

“Seven??” he whispered. “You left home at _seven??_ And you barely saw your father again for years?”

“It was an honour to be chosen,” Ulfric snapped, anger at this enemy witchman starting to flicker at the back of his mind. “Save your pity, witch. You’re not a Nord. You wouldn’t understand.”

Madanach closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, shaking his head as he did so.

“I’m a father,” Madanach said softly. “I think I’ll understand yours better than you do.”

“You don’t even know him!” Ulfric shouted, shoving Madanach away… or trying to. Because Madanach had reacted by diving forward and wrapping his arms round Ulfric, pinning his arms to his side so Ulfric couldn’t even push him away, and hanging on with all his strength. And it turned out Madanach’s physical strength was greater than Ulfric had thought.

“You think I don’t know you at least a little by now?” Madanach gasped, most of his energy being devoted to hanging on despite Ulfric’s best attempts to dislodge him. “You think I don’t know that when you get angry outside battle, it’s because someone’s got too close? Seen your vulnerable side? Seen a weakness? I’m gonna be your husband, Ulfric, good luck keeping up the front every waking hour. Mireen always found mine. I found hers too – had to. Wouldn’t have made it if I hadn’t.”

“Let… go… of… me!” Ulfric seethed, trying to disentangle himself, without success. And Madanach, damn him, just looked up, grinned and whispered two words.

“Make me.”

Ulfric hissed, rage descending and if Madanach had turned out to be deceptively strong, Ulfric wasn’t defenceless. Ulfric still had the Voice. Ulfric inhaled, and Madanach was this close to getting Shouted halfway across Old Hroldan, which would have shattered the peace irreparably… and then a woman’s voice called to them.

“Ulfric, there you are, we’d agreed a session, or had you forgotten?”

Madanach immediately let Ulfric go, folding his hands in his lap and moving about three feet away from the other man, features arranging themselves into a look of contrived innocence as he smiled up at the Nord woman in her priestess’s robes and an Amulet of Dibella round her neck.

“Good afternoon, Sister,” Madanach said, smiling. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting his treatment, I’m quite prepared to leave you two alone if you need it?”

Ulfric growled at Madanach, because while he was glad of an interruption, Sister Hamal turning up was not an improvement.

“Sister,” Ulfric said curtly. “I have had guests. Madanach is proving to be something of a distraction.”

“Ulfric was talking about how he had to leave home when he was Amaleen’s age and never saw his father again until he was grown up, and now he thinks his father’s disappointed in him,” Madanach said cheerfully, squeezing Ulfric’s thigh. “Isn’t that right, cariad?”

Ulfric stared down at Madanach’s hand, then back up at Madanach, teeth gritted and growling at him.

“That is NOT what I said!” Ulfric shouted, but Hamal was looking fascinated.

“You were talking about that?” she gasped. “I have been trying to get Ulfric to talk about his childhood for weeks! What did he tell you?”

“I didn’t tell him anything!” Ulfric cried.

“Every battle he fights disappoints his father because Ulfric was supposed to be a non-violent monk,” Madanach explained. “Apparently it’s making a mockery of the sacrifice Jarl Stormcloak made in giving up his son.”

“Ulfric,” Hamal said gently, coming to sit next to him. “Have you ever spoken with your father about this?”

“No!” Ulfric yelled. “There is nothing to discuss! I was a Greybeard once and now I am not! That is the end of it! My father’s opinions are his own!”

“He is your father, Ulfric,” Hamal said gently. “We none of us ever escape our parents’ opinions. Our parents shape us throughout our lives, even after they die.”

Madanach was nodding along sagely, as if this was a thing known and obvious to everyone, and Ulfric could take it no more. He couldn't attack Madanach or his guards would react – they were already all staring. And the worst thing was, Hamal wasn’t even wrong. It did matter. But there was nothing he could do about it, so why bother dragging it up? Madanach clearly just wanted to torment him. That had to be it. Well, he could put a stop to that at least.

“This conversation is over,” Ulfric snapped, getting to his feet. “There is nothing to discuss. I do not need your _pity_ or anything else! I am… I am going for a walk.”

With that, Ulfric stormed off, hand on his axe and leaving camp, in desperate search of someone to take his frustrations out on, leaving Hamal and Madanach watching after him.

“Think I went too far?” Madanach said quietly, feeling a little bit guilty. Teasing Ulfric was one thing but he’d not expected him to actually walk out. On the other hand, at least the rage had been released and Ulfric wasn’t sitting there and silently brooding, waiting for just the right time to strike when no one was looking.

“Oh, he does this all the time,” Hamal said calmly. “He won’t talk, I try persuasion, he still won’t elaborate or admit anything is wrong, and it ends with him shouting and walking out. Give him a few hours… or days. He comes back eventually. When he’s had time to think and convince himself it’s his idea.”

Which tallied exactly with Madanach’s experience so far, and so Madanach resolved not to worry about it. He’d wait for Ulfric to come back and then see what sort of mood he was in, and if he wasn’t back by the time it started getting dark, he’d head back to Markarth without him. Nothing at all to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In canon, Ulfric never saw his father again - he died while Ulfric was in prison after the Markarth Incident. It'll be a cathartic experience indeed if they are actually able to talk. But this is for next chapter, in which Ulfric has to be rescued, and many discussions are had.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric's been gone a while and the camp is starting to worry. Nord-Reachman tensions are running high but not so high they can't mount a search and rescue mission together. However, when they finally find Ulfric, it turns out it's not the external foes he really needed saving from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have called this fic Saving Ulfric Stormcloak. Ah well.
> 
> There is a lot of male bonding and airing of emotions in this one. Anyone who finds Ulfric and Galmar's friendship dynamic fascinating will love this one.
> 
> If you like Madanach and Galmar being forced to work together, you'll like this one too. :D

Nearly dusk, and Madanach was worrying. No Ulfric. No sign of him. Stormcloaks looking suspicious. ReachGuard looking twitchy. Sister Hamal looking a bit nervous and admitting this was some time even for him. Then Galmar getting out of the river, learning Ulfric had been gone for three hours and promptly cursing out his men and swearing bloody vengeance on anything Reachman if anything had happened to him.

Madanach decided at that point it was time to send his kids home with Inga, but damned if he was letting this escalate. Tensions were too high for a missing Ulfric to be taken lightly and the Reach was full of hidden dangers. His own people would probably not hurt Ulfric, but the weather could change quickly, who knew what beasts were about and the landscape itself was treacherous, especially in the dark, for a man who didn’t know it intimately and likely couldn’t cast magelight.

The more Madanach contemplated the Reach’s hidden dangers, the more on edge he felt. Normally he loved his wild and dangerous homeland, but the thought of Ulfric out there on his own just didn’t bear thinking about.

And so he kissed his kids goodbye, gave Inga a hug, gathered Uailon and a small group of soldiers around him and went to see Galmar. Who was already organising search parties.

“Right, you try the road east, you people try the hills to the south, you off towards Karthspire and the Reachmen settlements there… what do you want, Witch-King? Haven’t you done enough?”

“I was going to offer assistance in finding him, seeing as we know the land better,” Madanach said tersely. “Oh, and given that I’m the crowned king, I can instinctively commune with the land and the spirits and see if anyone’s seen a big angry Nord go past lately. But if you’d rather search without my help, in a land you don’t know your way around yet, in the dark...”

The mention of spirits had set the Stormcloaks on edge, not in a ‘let’s lynch a Reachman’ way (he hoped) but more as a little reminder the Reach just wasn’t the same as back home and a few were glancing nervously at Galmar, because exploring in the dark with spirits watching just wasn’t their idea of a good time.

It clearly wasn’t Galmar’s idea of a good time either, but his loyalty to his commander took priority.

“Fine, but if you lead us astray and any harm comes to Ulfric, you’ll all be paying the price, witch,” Galmar snarled. “Now where did he go?”

Madanach knelt down, nicked a finger on his war axe and placed the cut to the ground, and quietly let his mind flow out into the Reach. He was its King, bound by law and by ancient blood magic, and the land yielded its secrets. Yes, the big angry Nord had been by, and he’d gone north and kept going, but not too far. He’d last been seen near the mine to the north, the one known as Soljund’s Sinkhole. Except the spirits were whispering vague warnings of death and danger and magic from ancient Nord interlopers, and Madanach had a feeling Ulfric might just be in trouble.

“He was last seen near Soljund’s Sinkhole,” Madanach said, getting to his feet and healing his finger. “We should hurry. I think there may have been trouble. Bring anyone you can spare but let me do the talking.”

Galmar wasted no time arguing but rounded his men up, shouting orders, and within moments a party was following the path north.

Soljund’s Sinkhole hadn’t been heard from since the siege ended, and Madanach had been concerned about it at the time, but he’d had other things to organise and the moonstone mine had not been his top priority. Now he was wondering if he should have intervened earlier. Mercifully, all seemed peaceful – the only sign of violence they saw on the way was the dead bear with its head stoved in by what Galmar confidently pronounced as Ulfric’s fine Nordic war axe. Madanach had cast more blood magic and confidently been able to pronounce the blood on the ground all belonged to the bear, so clearly Ulfric had moved on after winning the fight. Judging from the state of the bear, he’d had some considerable frustration to get off his chest.

The mine itself was quiet, just the Reachman mine workers gathered outside, all looking rather nervous and the arrival of a party of heavily armed Nords did not ease tensions. Thankfully Galmar stood back and indicated for Madanach to talk to them, and the miners relaxed a little on seeing some fellow Reachfolk.

“Greetings,” Madanach said, inclining his head slightly. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a big angry Nord warrior in these parts, have you? He’s missing, his friends are looking for him, and he was last seen around here. Would have been wearing bearskin armour like this man here, had a blue shield with a bear’s head on it and an attitude problem like you wouldn’t believe.”

Grins from the miners, and even the Nords were struggling to entirely disagree with that description.

“He was here,” one of them said. “We were having problems with Draugr in the mine – we were breaking through a new tunnel and dug into some old crypt. We had to close the mine – we’re not warriors! We can’t fight them! But the city’s been under siege for weeks, and then the Nords camped out in Hroldan. We can’t get through to ask King Madanach for help, but then this Nord warrior came by and offered to help. He said not to worry about coin, he had an urge to hit things and that there’d be gold in the crypt anyway. So he went in. That was this afternoon, sir. We’ve not heard from him since.”

“Right, men!” Galmar roared. “Let’s get in there and find him! It’ll take more than a few Draugr to get the better of Ulfric, but let’s not let him have all the glory for himself, eh? On me! For Ysgramor, Talos and the Stormcloaks!”

Madanach watched as the Nords all piled into the mine, deciding they could probably manage this part without him for a bit, and turned his attention back to the miners, feeling somewhat guilty about not having got in touch earlier.

“They’re a bit unruly, but they’re not bad people when you get used to them,” Madanach told the miner. “The siege ended, they’re not attacking any more but they are settling permanently in Hroldan. Part of the deal involves safe passage through for citizens of the Reach though, so you should be able to get past them without any trouble. Also that Nord who offered to help is their commander. But just in case, I’ll get a proper supply chain re-established as a priority when court re-opens on Morndas. Are you in need of anything in particular?”

The miner was soon giving a list to one of Madanach’s soldiers, asking with surprise in his eyes just who he was and if he really could get King Madanach to help just like that.

“I should think so,” Madanach said, amused. “I am King Madanach. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I need to go after our Nord friends. It’s not wise to let them wander around without adult supervision.”

The resulting gasping and apologising for not recognising him sooner and they’d never forget this, my lord, was very gratifying, and took longer than Madanach had hoped to extricate himself from, but he managed it and followed Galmar’s trail into the mines.

The dead Draugr, set off traps and various grave detritus scattered everywhere told their own story. Whether it had been Ulfric or the others, Madanach didn’t know but it looked like there’d been fierce fighting and the Nords – the living ones – had powered through to victory.

_I am so glad I didn’t have to fight this lot in person._ As it was, he had to admire their prowess.

Still, the shouting and fighting (although no Thu’um, which meant no Ulfric yet or… Madanach didn’t want to think about that) seemed to have stopped, so Madanach quickened his pace and found several rather battered Nords all sitting around, their sole healer trying to clean wounds and ration out healing potions while Galmar stood scowling, kicking at a dead Draugr. It was one of the bigger ones.

“Good evening, Nords,” Madanach called cheerfully. “Did you have fun setting off every trap in the place?”

Galmar growled, nodding at his bleeding comrades.

“Shut your mouth and get over here, witch,” Galmar snarled. “I hope you’ve got some magic handy. Tova here’s got her hands full with the casualties.”

Madanach rolled his eyes, shared a weary glance with Uailon and went to kneel next to the worst off Nord.

“Hold still,” he said cheerfully, Heal Other in his hands. “You get me, you lucky thing. Uailon, organise anyone with any healing magic to help our friends, hmm?”

Ten minutes later and everyone was back on their feet, and they pressed on. This time, Galmar had Madanach alongside him.

“Prefer you where I can see you, witch,” Galmar growled, and Madanach sincerely hoped Ulfric was OK, because if he was dead, Galmar might take it out on the rest of them.

Fortunately the rest of the crypt proved easier work with Madanach at the front, what with being able to urge caution now and then and stop Galmar stepping on pressure plates, and most of the Draugr being dead already. And then came the sound Madanach had been quietly hoping for. Up ahead, Ulfric, alive and fighting.

“TALOS TAKE YOU, DRAUGR!” Then coughing and a cry of pain. “NINE DAMN IT, DIE AND STAY DEAD, DUSTMA- GAAHH!”

Ulfric sounded exhausted and that last cry had sounded close to despair. Madanach felt his throat close up in panic, and a glance at Galmar revealed that the blood had drained from the Nord’s face.

“HANG ON IN THERE ULFRIC, I’M COMING!” Galmar roared, charging into battle, and Madanach cast his armour and ran after him, keeping up easily enough. Despite Galmar’s longer legs, Madanach didn’t have as much muscle mass to move, and something that wasn’t quite panic but was definitely close kin to it was driving him on.

Ulfric was on the floor, in a large chamber, with far too much blood on the floor for Madanach’s liking, and burns on the exposed area of skin. Burns which were coming from an enchanted statue on one side of the altar, and another statue on the other side had just cast a healing spell on the Draugr standing over Ulfric. It was one of the bigger, tougher ones with those dual horns on its helm, and it was raising its ebony axe to strike.

Madanach had barely taken all this in before his hands were moving of their own volition and dual Incinerate spells sent the thing staggering back. And then Galmar had sprung forward, battleaxe raised, with the other Stormcloaks after him, and while the Draugr could have finished off a lone Nord, half a dozen of them were another matter. Madanach let them get on with it and ran to Ulfric's side.

“Hang in there, we’ll get you some potions,” Madanach whispered, surveying the damage and mentally cursing himself for ever letting the man go off alone, because it would take more than a potion to fix this. It would take Restoration magic, but Ulfric hated it even for minor injuries.

“Heal me.”

It was just a whisper, but Ulfric lifted his face, one side with some vicious burns on it, to Madanach, eyes staring into his.

“You hate healing magic,” Madanach snapped and Ulfric just grimaced. 

“Just do it, man,” Ulfric growled. “I’m… prepared. I… can bear it… from you.”

That was almost sweet. So Madanach told Ulfric to close his eyes and inhale, and Heal Other poured into Ulfric, reaching in and penetrating skin, smoothing out scars and rehydrating burns, sealing wounds and reinvigorating muscles, and while Ulfric curled in on himself and grunted, clearly hating every moment, he didn’t cry out or ask for it to stop, and so Madanach continued until Ulfric’s injuries were healed.

“Are you all right?” Madanach asked gruffly, repressing the urge to hug him. He didn’t think Ulfric would appreciate all the affection in front of both his soldiers and Madanach’s. To his surprise, he saw Ulfric flexing his arms and hands and then looking up, looking at him very strangely.

“You came to find me,” Ulfric said, surprised. Which was a bit weird, because of course he would, the fragile peace relied on Ulfric not dying, because Ulfric was the one who actually liked him. For some version of like anyway.

“Couldn’t let you wander the Reach on your own at night,” Madanach said, shrugging and attempting to downplay it, yes that was right, keep it cool, keep it calm, don’t let Ulfric see how worried you were – mmph!

Ulfric’s hand on the back of his head and then the big Nord was kissing him, lips on his and his grip firm and Madanach temporarily lost the ability to think. 

_By the gods, he’s good at that._ Madanach closed his eyes and yielded, not resisting as Ulfric pulled him close, strong arms round him and holding him right up against that solid muscular chest, and Madanach’s brain had just shut off entirely at this point, calm descending on a mind normally running at several dozen miles an hour as Madanach nestled into his arms. And for all Madanach’s scheming to get to this point, for all Ulfric walking out the first time Madanach propositioned him, neither man had a problem with this outcome, not at all.

At least until Galmar interrupted, anyway.

“ULFRIC! NINE SAVE US, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”

Ulfric was the one to break off, growling quietly as he glared at his housecarl.

“What is it? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“You were injured!” Galmar shouted. “How was I supposed to – Talos, man, what happened to your face??”

“My face?” Ulfric reached up to touch his cheek. “What about my face – Madanach, what did you do to my face??”

He turned on Madanach, who couldn't work out what he’d done wrong, because Ulfric looked fine, a little different, yes, but perfectly fine and rather attractive in fact, and he told him this, feeling very confused and a bit resentful, if he was honest.

“Your scars are gone!” Galmar cried. “You’ve had them since the war!”

“My...” Ulfric’s fingers brushed his cheek, feeling smooth skin where there’d previously been ridges, and Madanach realised that Ulfric’s scars were indeed gone and he looked a lot younger and less grizzled and a lot less terrifying and altogether adorable. Which was great for Madanach but not so great for Ulfric who was probably the last person on Nirn you should ever call cute or adorable, because even Madanach would put up with it from his inner circle or his kids. Ulfric was the type who needed his men to think he was invulnerable. Ulfric would probably not thank him for this.

“They’re really gone?” Ulfric breathed. “What, all of them?”

“Yes, all of them!” Galmar cried. “Did he do that??” He was pointing at Madanach, a warrior’s accusation of removing another warrior’s badge of bravery, and oh Sithis, Madanach was doomed.

“Not intentionally!” Madanach protested. “Ulfric was hurt, he asked for healing, I did that and… it took his battle scars in the process. Because the skin had been reinjured and Heal Other returns it to its original condition, but that’s its pre-injury state and that includes any scars from previous wounds in the same area…” His voice trailed off and things were about to get worse, because Tova the healer had a mirror in her kit, and Ulfric was staring into it, stroking his face and realising what he now looked like. A much younger man with an unlined unscarred face, who was less intimidating by far.

Ulfric had placed the mirror on the ground, then his hands over his face and was now hunched up, barely moving, and Madanach had a feeling he was trying not to cry. Oh gods, this was bad, this was very bad, and he was already motioning for his own people to start stealthily heading for the door even as Galmar had a hand on Ulfric’s back, begging for him to say something.

“They’re gone,” Ulfric gasped. “She said I’d have the reminder forever, but they’re gone. He wiped them away.”

“She??” Galmar said, by now completely lost. “Ulfric? Who are you talking about?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ulfric said, looking up and his eyes locking on Madanach, who’d just got into a crouch, ready to flee if he needed to. “She doesn’t matter. I’ve got you now. Madanach, man, come here. I’m not angry.”

No he wasn’t. He was smiling. He was smiling, and sheer joy was radiating out of him and a man who’d been both physically attractive and physically imposing before now looked transformed into something more beautiful than Madanach had imagined. And he was holding out a hand to him.

Madanach’s heart was pounding and his head was spinning and he’d forgotten how to breathe but he was present enough to take Ulfric’s hand and let himself be drawn into that man’s warm embrace, and no matter how much they might argue, Ulfric’s arms were strong and safe and warm, and Madanach let himself fall into them.

“Am I forgiven?” Madanach whispered and Ulfric grinned and kissed his lips once.

“Yes,” Ulfric gasped. “Yes, of course you are. The Nine work in strange ways, but perhaps… perhaps this was meant. Perhaps I was meant to find you.”

Madanach didn’t answer, but he squeezed Ulfric tight and snuggled into his chest, and Ulfric kissed his hair and rubbed his back, and whatever they’d argued over before, Ulfric at least had moved past it. 

“Besides,” Ulfric admitted, “perhaps some of what you said had merit. I will talk with Sister Hamal further, and maybe when my father visits, I will ask him his opinion.”

“You do that,” Madanach murmured hazily, Ulfric’s relationship with his father way down his priority list at the moment.

“Opinion of what?” Galmar demanded. “Opinion of him?? Jarl Hoag’d be lacking as a father if he wasn’t concerned about Madanach at least a little!”

Ulfric quietly inhaled, clearly not wanting to talk about this… but Madanach could tell that Galmar was going to want to know about this sooner or later. Might as well take advantage of Ulfric’s good mood while it lasted.

“Ulfric’s worried his father’s disappointed in him due to his forswearing the life of a peace-loving monk and going off to kill things instead,” Madanach explained. “He thinks his father believes he’s made a mockery of the sacrifice Jarl Hoag made in giving him up at age seven, which by the way is an absurdly young age to send a child away...”

Ulfric had growled under his breath and his hand had slapped down on to Madanach’s back in what was almost certainly a warning not to test his patience, and a quiet frisson of whispering had gone round the Reachmen, because while they weren’t a sentimental people and publicly would frequently declare children a pain in the backside, the actual parents did mostly love their children dearly and it was unheard of for a seven year old to be sent away from their tribe unless their parents had actually died and their next of kin lived elsewhere. And while the Nords had clearly known about Ulfric’s childhood, it was clearly a taboo topic because they were all looking extremely uncomfortable.

“That’s _enough,_ Madanach,” Ulfric said tersely. “I told you, I will talk this over with Hamal, and speak with my father when I see him. I will not discuss this in public, as it is no one’s business but mine and my father’s-”

“He’s not disappointed in you!” Galmar blurted out, his face an odd mix of horrified and uncomfortable and appalled, but at the same time he clearly hadn’t been able to stop himself.

Silence fell, and thank the gods Galmar had said that, because he was the one person in the room Ulfric might not actually kill for airing his family secrets like this. As it was, literally everyone else was staring at the scene playing out with the sort of fascination normally reserved for watching an execution.

“Galmar,” Ulfric said ominously. “What would you know about my father’s feelings.”

Anyone else probably would have backed off at that point, but Galmar had served Clan Stormcloak all his life and whatever his flaws, his loyalty and bravery were beyond question. 

“Talos help you, man!” Galmar cried, throwing up his hands. “He told me! When you first came back and were about to head to war, he told me to take care of you! He told me to protect you with my life if I had to! Because you were his only son, his only child, and he couldn't bear the thought of you coming home on your shield! Man was beside himself! He’s not disappointed in you – you’re one of the finest warriors in Skyrim! What true Nord could ever be disappointed in you as a son?”

“Don’t lie to me, Galmar, I can see it in his eyes, every time he looks at me!” Ulfric shouted, getting to his feet and facing off against his housecarl. “I do not see pride, or joy, or love! All. I. See. Is. SADNESS!”

“OF COURSE HE’S SAD, YOU CAME BACK BROKEN!” Galmar roared and now absolutely everyone had hunkered down, saying nothing, not moving, not meeting anyone else’s eyes because this had taken on a life of its own and if anyone interrupted now, it would be absolutely ruined… and quite possibly Ulfric and Galmar with it.

“I am _not_ broken, Galmar, and you are crossing a very dangerous line!” Ulfric growled, and no mistaking it now, the entire room had just _shivered._

“The hell with it, Ulfric, everyone knows it!” Galmar cried, undaunted. “You got captured by the Thalmor and you were never the same again! And that lies entirely on my shoulders! So have my head if you will, because I deserve it! I let you get caught! I wasn’t careful enough! And the damn elves broke you! And neither I nor your father nor anyone else can fix that! But that doesn’t mean we don’t care!”

Ulfric was standing there, breathing heavily, in the grip of strong emotions… and despite all Hamal’s work with him, Ulfric was still Ulfric and his instinctive reaction to anything he didn’t like was to hit it.

“Damn you, Galmar!” Ulfric roared, rushing forward to lay hands on his housecarl, and he’d have done it too, even as Galmar instinctively raised a hand to shield himself. Except there was someone else who had a stake in matters now, someone who didn’t as a rule go in for protecting Nords… but who did have an interest in saving Ulfric from himself.

“Don’t you dare, he’s your best friend!” Madanach gasped as he launched himself on to Ulfric from behind, using all his weight to haul Ulfric back. “Someone give me a hand here!”

Uailon on one side and to Madanach’s surprise, that young Nord healer Tova being brave enough to hold her commander back, and Ulfric struggled, shouting at them to let him go, dammit… but Madanach noticed that he wasn’t struggling at full strength.

“You can’t just beat your housecarl up, sir!” Tova cried. “He’s sworn himself to you, you can’t abuse that!”

“He failed me by his own admission, should I not have him for that?” Ulfric shouted, still trying to shake them off… or giving a good impression of wanting to anyway.

“What, by telling you your father loves you and doesn’t think you’re a waste of space?” Uailon snapped. “Some children wait years to hear that! And some never hear it...” Uailon’s own relationship with his parents had not been an easy one, and the bitterness showed.

Ulfric uttered a furious cry, clearly frustrated and angry… but no longer fighting to get free, and Madanach judged it finally safe to let him go.

“You’re lying,” Ulfric snapped, still glaring furiously at Galmar, his voice catching slightly. “Or you’re mistaken. You have to be.”

Galmar had lowered his hand, slowly relaxing as he sensed a lessening of hostilities.

“When have I ever been false with you, Ulfric,” Galmar said softly and Ulfric visibly flinched, slowly lowering his eyes, hands falling to his sides.

“He’s… truly not...” Ulfric whispered, sounding very unsure of himself suddenly, and Madanach realised he was shaking all over. Quietly, he motioned for Tova and Uailon to step back, before putting an arm round Ulfric and leading him aside to sit down.

“Why would he ever be disappointed in you, you’ve done nothing to be ashamed of,” Galmar said roughly, sounding a bit emotional himself. Ulfric didn’t meet his eyes, but he did glance at Madanach, clearly recalling the part where the Thalmor had in fact broken him.

“That was not your fault,” Madanach said firmly, his hand on Ulfric’s back, focusing on his sort-of lover and hopefully still betrothed. “We discussed this before, didn’t we? Didn’t we agree we could not trust anything they’d told you?”

“Who are you talking about?” Galmar cried, although he surely could guess. Ulfric said nothing, head in his hands, and not meeting anyone’s eyes, and Madanach glanced up at all the eyes on Ulfric and correctly guessed this might go better if everyone else left.

“All of you, withdraw and return to the mine entrance,” Madanach ordered. “Leave Ulfric with me and Galmar.”

“I’m more worried about leaving you alone with those two,” Uailon muttered, but he did acquiesce, and shepherded the Reachfolk out. And after a nod from Galmar, the Nords filed out too.

“All right, they’re gone, you can talk,” Madanach said softly. “I will not judge you, and nor will Galmar here, will you? You swore to take care of Ulfric here, right? That includes picking him up when he’s falling apart, right?”

“Madanach, you damn Reachman bastard, I swear, if you weren’t attractive...” Ulfric muttered, still hunched up and staring at his own knees.

“Never mind him,” Galmar snapped, kneeling on Ulfric’s other side. “Was it the Thalmor? What in Oblivion did they tell you, man? And why’d you share it with him and not me?”

“Because at the time, I did not care for his opinion,” Ulfric said, voice subdued and quiet. “But I could not bear the shame of you knowing. I do not think I could stand to see contempt in your eyes, my friend.”

“Never,” Galmar said fervently, which was something considering Ulfric had been on the verge of assaulting him a few minutes ago. Madanach would never understand Nords.

“Then I will tell you, but if you wish to leave my service afterwards, I will understand,” Ulfric said, still not meeting Galmar’s eyes and to Madanach’s surprise, Ulfric’s hand slid into his and squeezed it tight, fingers interlocking with his as Ulfric quietly told Galmar his experiences with the Thalmor. And Galmar closed his eyes and cursed softly, tears in his eyes as he put an arm round Ulfric and held him… and then looked up sharply as Ulfric admitted he’d betrayed the Empire. 

“I tried, Galmar,” Ulfric gasped, tears in his eyes as he finally admitted his greatest shame. “I held out for as long as I could. But I… they broke me, Galmar and we lost. I’m so sorry.”

“Ulfric… you did your best,” Galmar said, voice surprisingly gentle. “Those elven bastards could break anyone given time. You were there for months – three of them, I think. The city fell after you’d been gone two. You must have held out all that time.”

“I _should_ have died!” Ulfric snarled, staring balefully at Galmar, tears in his eyes. “I should have stayed strong, held out, let them kill me, gone to Sovngarde a hero! But I didn’t want to die and so I let Talos’s Empire fall. And here I am trying to make it up to him, but it is not enough.”

Madanach risked a glance at Galmar to see how he was taking all this, and was surprised to see Galmar looking back, looking vaguely panicked at his all-powerful commanding officer being quite this wrecked.

_What do we do, witch?_

_Hell if I know, Nord._

Madanach hadn’t expected to be feeling quite that level of kinship with Galmar Stone-Fist of all people, but here was Ulfric, falling apart, and here were they, both worried.

“One man’s information couldn't bring down an entire city,” Madanach said softly. “Except maybe mine with Markarth, and quite honestly, do not trust me if you ever have me prisoner. I’m very good at stringing people along, or conveniently leaving vital pieces of information out. You maybe aren’t but you also weren’t leading the Imperial war effort. Like I said before, we’ve no evidence you even helped them. And something is bothering me. You’d already given up your useful information, why’d they keep you around for over a month?”

“They didn’t, I escaped barely a week after – I think they let their guard down after that,” Ulfric said, frowning. “Why do you say that?”

“Because the city fell while you were prisoner, and Delphine didn’t waste time getting you back to us,” Galmar said, starting to cotton on. “If you only broke a week before your escape… Ulfric, we’d already lost by then. You never betrayed anyone. You held out.”

Ulfric slowly lifted his eyes to stare at Galmar, and Madanach was so glad the Nord had been the one to say that, because the raw emotion and rage in Ulfric’s eyes scared him a little.

“What,” Ulfric said quietly, and Galmar Stone-Fist was truly a very brave man, because Madanach would have been making his excuses and fleeing at that point.

“You never betrayed us,” Galmar said gently, patting Ulfric on the back. “They lied to you, Ulfric. It wasn’t your fault the Imperial City fell. You held out in their dungeons for over two months, man, and we couldn’t even find you, never mind rescue you. You aren’t to blame, Ulfric. You were always the best of us. And you still are.”

Ulfric closed his eyes, face screwing up, and then he got to his feet and with a great roar that shook the room, he threw the nearby table over, sending it crashing into the floor.

“Damn you!” he screamed. “Damn you, damn you, DAMN YOU!”

The shout echoed, Thu’um lacing his words, and dust fell from the ceiling that time.

“All right, we need to get him out of here before he causes a cave in,” Madanach murmured to Galmar, who didn’t disagree.

“I’ll talk to him,” Galmar murmured back, before going over to where a now quiet Ulfric was standing there with his head in his hands. “Ulfric, come on, let’s get you back to camp.”

Ulfric lowered his hands, lifting his head up to look at Galmar, and Madanach felt his chest constrict as he saw the tears on Ulfric’s cheeks.

“I believed myself a traitor for two damn years, Galmar,” Ulfric said softly, sounding like he was about to cry again. “I can handle the pain but I could not… I could not live with the guilt and you tell me it was all for _nothing?_ ”

“Ulfric,” Galmar said, voice still gentle as he reached out to pat Ulfric’s back, and Ulfric twisted away from him, face twisting in rage for just a moment… and then he seemed to stop, suddenly realising this was his old friend Galmar staring at him and not a Thalmor torturer, and he slowly lowered his arms, the anger seeming to fade. And then he mutely held his hands out to Galmar, who stepped forward to embrace him, and as Galmar rubbed Ulfric’s back, Ulfric started to sob in his arms, quiet, muffled sobs, but sobs nonetheless, strong emotions forcing themselves out at last, after two years of being brutally suppressed.

Madanach looked away, feeling suddenly out of place and unneeded, and gods damn it, Ulfric would in no way want him, the leader of the despised and still mistrusted witchmen, to see him this vulnerable. Galmar was his friend, his housecarl, why not let him deal with this? Ulfric was too proud to want him anywhere near when he was in this state. He should probably go, and never mind he was secretly resenting Galmar for being able to calm Ulfric, and part of him was whispering in his mind that he was Ulfric’s husband to be, he should be comforting Ulfric not Galmar. Most of him was thinking perhaps he should just walk away and let the Nords sort themselves out. Galmar was so much better at handling Ulfric, why not leave it to him?

“Come on, let’s get you back to camp,” Galmar said, voice kind and gentle and sounding utterly unlike his usual gruff, angry self. “I’ll get you some mead. Did you need Sister Hamal?”

Ulfric shook his head and then looked up, tears still glimmering on his cheeks in the torchlight.

“Madanach, is he still here?”

Madanach had been on the verge of turning to leave, but he stopped, turning back to look at Ulfric, questions in his eyes. He was surprised to see the other man staring at him, looking almost hopeful. Desperately so, in fact.

Madanach had not seen anyone look at him like that in years. Mireen certainly never had. Madanach’s chest constricted again as he realised that Ulfric, despite leaning on his closest friend, still seemed to want him as well. The thought brought a blush to his cheeks, and a lightening of his heart as it sank in that Ulfric liked him. Truly liked him. It wasn’t just physical, it wasn’t just a desire to conquer the enemy. Something about him made Ulfric feel happy and safe and comforted, and Madanach realised that he really truly _liked_ it when Ulfric was all of those things.

“Yes, I’m still here,” Madanach said as he approached, having finally deemed it safe to do so. “I wasn’t sure if it was all right to say anything, or if you still wanted to hit something.”

Small sound from Ulfric that might have been laughter as he stepped away from Galmar, and then Madanach was the one being embraced in a big, warm bear hug. 

Gods, but Ulfric was strong and his embrace felt so _warm,_ and… Madanach reached up to hold him, snuggling into him and not wanting to be anywhere else but here, being cuddled by a big, gruff, frequently angry but rarely manipulative, often loud but never deceitful, Nord warrior who underneath it all needed more love than he ever let on.

“I would never hurt you,” Ulfric said gently. “Not now, not ever. I think you just saved me. I… thank you.”

A kiss on the forehead and more cuddling and Madanach smiled to himself, reaching round to pat Ulfric’s back.

“Am I forgiven then?” Madanach asked, and Ulfric laughed and kissed him.

“Of course,” Ulfric murmured in his ear, before hesitating, sounding very unsure all of a sudden. “Are you staying at the camp tonight? Your children, are they all right? They must be worried about you.”

“I sent them back to Markarth,” Madanach whispered. “They’re fine. I will send word back to the city once we reach camp, and see about heading back myself once you’re settled...”

Ulfric promptly tightened his grip and shook his head.

“No. I mean… no. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Stay with me tonight,” Ulfric murmured, and Madanach realised there was more on offer if he wanted… and contrary to previous expectations, it was no longer going to be him submitting while an aroused enemy warlord forced him to comply with whatever he liked. This was going to be his younger Nord lover wanting him there because he had feelings for him. This would be Ulfric inviting him to bed because he wanted him there and wanted to make him happy.

This would be a mutual sharing of pleasure and enjoying of each other’s company, and if Madanach did end up submitting to Ulfric’s ministrations, it would be because Madanach wanted to.

That thought sent little shivers straight to his cock, because the thought of Ulfric’s hands on his backside gave him thrills. The realisation that he didn’t have to hate himself for wanting that any more, that he could fantasise about it and even ask for it if he wanted, because Ulfric wouldn’t hurt him unless it was something he wanted…

“OK,” Madanach whispered, feeling rather breathless all of a sudden. “I mean, sure. I can stick around. Must be getting late out there any way by this point, right?”

Ulfric smiled that dazzlingly attractive smile of sheer delight again and kissed the top of his head as he cuddled him, and to Madanach’s surprise, even Galmar patted him on the back.

“We’ve got some spare tents now there’s some extra buildings to sleep in,” Galmar announced. “I’ll sort something out for this one’s guards. Take it you two will be in together?”

“Yes, if he’ll have me,” Ulfric said, without the slightest hesitation, glancing at Madanach for confirmation. And Madanach realised that the activity he’d tacitly assumed might be delayed until the wedding night had just leapt forward significantly, and he could have Ulfric tonight if he wanted.

He did want, despite the nagging fear resurfacing, the same fear that had surfaced every time Mireen had beckoned him to bed, the fear he’d be hurt, the fear he’d suffer, the fear he’d say no and she’d ignore him and mock him and… 

Madanach took a deep breath, reminded himself she was dead and gone and forced a smile to his face.

“I will,” he promised, because he did fancy Ulfric, most definitely. It was just nerves and he’d conquered those before, right?

Ulfric’s smile returned with full force and Madanach’s nerves melted away. And so he smiled and nestled into Ulfric’s side, Ulfric’s arm round him on one side and Galmar on the other, and went back to the camp, a skip in his step and excitement buzzing in his chest (and other places). Ulfric really cared about him, he was going to have a man in his bed for the first time in years, and all in all, this night had ended well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter you might finally get our boys in bed together... if Madanach's issues don't get in the way of course.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric's safe, but Madanach's feeling anything but as he's invited to stay with Ulfric that night... and activities he'd assumed would wait until the wedding night suddenly rear their heads, triggering his own traumas. Are Ulfric and Madanach over before they've begun? Or can they find happiness on their own terms?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex happens! Sort of. Eventually. Warnings for discussion of past trauma. Oh, and man on man action, but you probably expected that at some point if you got this far.

The others were relieved to see Ulfric looking pale and wan, but still smiling, arms firmly round Galmar and Madanach, and once back on the surface, he even stopped to talk to the Reachman miners to tell them not to worry, their mine was safe to work now.

Talking to Reachmen who weren’t going to fuck him as if they were people. Wonders would never cease. Madanach smiled and squeezed his hand, and held onto it all the way back to camp, seeing the way the grateful miners had thanked Ulfric profusely, and feeling very proud of his lover-to-be. Personal growth indeed.

Madanach’s guards went gratefully to the tents Galmar offered them, and Madanach paused to supervise the construction of an impromptu camp.

“Are you bunking in with us?” Uailon asked, having seen Ulfric and Madanach smiling at each other and constantly touching the whole way back and sensed a change in their relationship. “Or are you…?”

Madanach glanced back at Ulfric’s tent, Ulfric just visible inside it as he lit a lantern, not something Madanach was used to doing, but he supposed it was more romantic than the bright glare of a magelight.

“I’ll be in with Ulfric,” Madanach told him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“ _That_ remains to be seen,” Uailon said tartly. “If he oversteps the mark, I am hauling you out of there myself.”

Shades of Mireen, and memories of Uailon pursing his lips and doing his best not to react to finding Madanach quietly healing bruises or casting illusion spells to hide marks, and Madanach shook his head, trying not to think about that. Mireen had never looked at him the way Ulfric had, never smiled at him with such unrestrained joy as Ulfric had tonight. Madanach couldn’t ever recall seeing any vulnerability there, or feeling safe around her.

Ulfric had shown his vulnerable side and shown unrestrained affection, and Madanach realised that despite everything, he felt safe around the man now.

“It’ll be fine,” Madanach told him, not quite able to stop himself smiling. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m _paid_ to worry!” Uailon snapped, but he could see Madanach wasn’t to be talked out of this one. And so he let his king go, and Madanach made his way over to the very belly of the beast. Ulfric Stormcloak’s tent, containing Ulfric Stormcloak’s bed, in which Madanach would most likely shortly be receiving the attentions of Ulfric Stormcloak himself.

The thought made him nervous, even as he told himself it would be fine.

Ulfric was inside, hanging up the lantern, having already stripped to the waist and removed his boots, and while Madanach was not surprised to see how massive Ulfric’s tent was, he was surprise indeed to see that it had a wooden floor and a proper bed with a bedside cabinet. And a chest of drawers. And a table and chair. A Jarl’s son clearly did not travel light.

“Ulfric, you have almost as much furniture as I do back at the Keep,” Madanach said, glancing around, trying not to look at the double bed, because his heart sped up every time he looked at it and not in a good way.

_Breathe, breathe, he’s not going to hurt you._

Ulfric laughed, and turned to face him, tinderbox snapping off and being tossed carelessly onto the table.

“What is the point of being a commander if you do not get a little comfort, hmm?” Ulfric said, coming to stand in front of him, hands reaching out and gently stroking his face. “Come now, don’t object, you’re getting to share in the bounty.” He leaned forward, lips moving to Madanach’s.

“Anything I have is yours, beloved,” Ulfric murmured, and then his lips met Madanach’s and Madanach forgot completely what he’d been thinking about. Ulfric’s arms were around him, one round his shoulders, the other snaking down his back, and then Ulfric had _picked him up_ and spun him around, depositing him on the bed and climbing on top of him.

It was a good thing the ten flaps had fallen shut behind Madanach really. As it was, Madanach hadn’t fully realised just how strong Ulfric was. It was one thing to know the man was about six foot four and built like a bear. It was another to realise Ulfric could probably carry him if he needed to.

It really shouldn’t turn him on like it was doing. He could feel himself getting hard, feel Ulfric’s erection grinding into him as he climbed on top, and it turned out a great big muscular bear of a man pinning him to the bed and kissing him wasn’t unpleasant. Quite the reverse in fact.

So why couldn’t he relax.

Why, despite being able to respond and run his hands all over Ulfric and kiss him back and thrust up against him, was he still feeling like an outsider looking in. Why couldn’t he close his eyes and let himself be pleasured?

_Something to do with you not having been able to do that with anyone since Inga?_

Madanach quietly told himself to shut up, lie back, stop worrying, Mireen was dead, Ulfric wasn’t going to hurt him or rape him or… it was going to be fine, he told himself. He wanted this, he told himself. He just needed to lie back and not resist and act like he was losing himself in the moment, even if he was switching to a hyper-vigilant state normally associated with battle.

And then Ulfric’s hand, the one that was sliding down his side, slid down to his thigh and began lifting his kilt, starting to part his legs as Ulfric moved down, leaving a trail of kisses on Madanach’s chest, and Madanach froze.

_I can’t I can’t I can’t._

Ulfric had paused, looking strangely at him, and Madanach coughed and shifted himself, hoping Ulfric hadn’t noticed. Ulfric narrowed his eyes a little, but then shrugged and lowered his head.

A kiss on his inner thigh, then another one further up and if Madanach could get a grip, he might just get a blowjob out of this.

He tried to lie back and relax, he really did. He was breathing carefully, trying to stave off the panic, and he might have managed it… but then Ulfric’s fingers brushed over his erection and Madanach panicked.

“Mireen, NO!” Madanach gasped, shoving Ulfric back and trying to scoot away, his heart pounding and his mind screaming in terror, not just of the touching but in the knowledge he’d defied her, and she’d punish him for this, if not now then later, and it was always worse it if it was later.

And then the blind panic subsided as he remembered Mireen was gone, she’d never hurt him again, he had Ulfric now… and Ulfric had withdrawn his hands, sitting upright, staring at him in the candlelight with an expression devoid of any warmth or affection whatsoever.

Madanach realised he had just screwed up so monumentally there should be an award for it, and the entire Reach might be about to pay the price if Ulfric decided this counted as a treaty breach.

“I’m sorry,” Madanach whispered, mortified. “That doesn’t normally… er. Can we, er, try that again? I’ll be good this time, I swear it.”

Ulfric’s eyes were boring into his and Madanach realised he didn’t remotely believe him.

“I knew something was wrong,” Ulfric said softly, viciously furious, Madanach could tell, and by Sithis, Madanach would be lucky to get out of here without being beaten for his trouble at this rate. “You were tensing up the whole time. I wondered if I was doing something wrong. You have… likely bedded more men than I have.”

“No, it wasn’t you, it was… look, it doesn’t matter, come back to bed, we’ll try again, I’ll be quiet this time, you can do whatever you like, I won’t stop you, I promise,” Madanach babbled, panic starting to return because oh gods, what if it wasn’t enough, what if Ulfric stayed angry, what if Ulfric walked out, what if he called the whole thing off…

“No,” Ulfric snapped. “Nine, look at you, you’re a nervous wreck! I’m not having sex with you in that state!”

Madanach let out a sob, because it wasn’t working, Ulfric didn’t believe him, Ulfric was going to leave him for not being good enough, and if Ulfric didn’t get what he’d been promised, the war was on again, wasn’t it? The city would be under siege once more, and Ulfric was too good a commander not to make full use of a hostage king.

“Come on, why not, it’s what we agreed, wasn’t it?” Madanach cried. “You agree to stop besieging us, and in return you get me! Well, you got me. I’m right here, take me, I won’t stop you, you can do what you like! Anything you want, yours for the taking! Instead of my city, my people, my kids, you get me! Don’t get squeamish on me now, man!”

“Squeamish,” Ulfric managed to gasp out. “You think… Talos, Madanach, I’m not raping you!”

“Why the fuck not,” Madanach whispered, the words finally out, Madanach finally able to stop hiding and admit his fears, and the relief of finally being able to talk about it almost made up for the impending assault. “What’s stopping you? That was the deal. Me in exchange for leaving my people alone, and you can worship Talos if you like. So get over here and get it over with because I can’t wait, I just can’t, it’s always worse when it’s put off...”

Ulfric’s voice cut him off, and the barely concealed fury in his tone made Madanach flinch… but the words were unexpected.

“That was not the bargain I agreed to.”

Madanach still couldn't look at Ulfric. Madanach was still hunched up on the pillows, hand subconsciously raised in the same posture he’d use to summon a ward, with Ulfric sitting at the bottom of the bed, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth and looking like he’d dearly like to hit something. But there was something in Ulfric’s voice that gave the lie to his posture and it occurred to Madanach that perhaps Ulfric didn’t really know how to express his emotions any other way.

“It wasn’t?” Madanach whispered, not feeling safe, not daring to hope for mercy, not yet… but he could stand to listen to what Ulfric thought he’d signed up for.

“Of course not,” Ulfric snapped. “Kyne’s sake, man! You promised me safety from the Thalmor, a rallying point and sanctuary to preserve Talos-worship and begin the fightback against the elves, and in return all I had to do was stand my men down and publicly pledge my fealty and my affection to you! I admit it was not easy for me to admit my deeper feelings to all and sundry. But that did not mean they were not there. I told the spirits of this place that I had switched allegiance for love of the Reach-King! And I told them no lie. I will not be raping you, not this night or any other. My body has been yearning for you since I first laid eyes on you, and this night in that mine, I knew my heart had followed. I couldn't… Madanach, I would never harm you. Not now.”

Madanach listened to all this in silence, barely able to process what it meant, his brain struggling to wrap itself round the realisation he’d badly misjudged the young Nord… or rather, Ulfric had changed significantly over the last few weeks. Whatever the Stormcloak’s original intentions, it was becoming clear that the former warlord mercenary’s loyalties had changed completely… and genuinely.

_He switched sides for love of the Reach-King. Does that mean…_

Madanach couldn’t speak. He couldn't say the words out loud. He couldn't even begin to bring himself to believe this was real, Ulfric really loved him, he wasn’t going to be hurt or abused or forced or…

Madanach covered his face and curled up and started to cry, pent-up emotions finally forcing themselves out as the defences of a decade and more finally started to unravel as his brain finally started to realise it was safe.

The bed creaked and Ulfric closed the gap, hovering close by, staring at him, clearly appalled and horrified and at a complete loss and Madanach couldn't blame him for that.

“Should I get Sister Hamal? Your bodyguard?” Ulfric whispered, and Madanach shook his head. Gods no, it was bad enough Ulfric had to watch him fall apart, he didn’t need anyone else seeing this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, because he didn’t know what else to say. Ulfric had doubtless expected a nice romantic evening and what he’d got was a hysterical, half-crazy mess sobbing in his bed and having panic attacks. Madanach had a feeling it would take more than a bouquet of mountain flowers and some jewellery to make this up to him.

“It is not your fault,” Ulfric said, fierce anger still there in every syllable, and Madanach flinched to hear it… and then he noticed Ulfric tense up too, before seeming to visibly take a deep breath and relax.

“She hurt you, didn’t she,” Ulfric said softly. “Mireen.” He spat her name out like it was some sort of curse, and Madanach didn’t trust himself to speak so he just nodded, watching Ulfric hiss under his breath and wondering what he must be thinking.

“And you were afraid I would demand the same,” Ulfric said, his own voice catching on the words. Madanach nodded again, unsure what this meant, but the aggression seemed to have died down at least. It was something.

“Did you ever find me attractive, or did you just see a weakness and seek to exploit it,” Ulfric said, and that was bitterness, no doubt. Bitterness and rejection, and Madanach remembered Ulfric smiling at him earlier, an expression full of hope and love like Madanach had never seen before, and it had been the most beautiful thing he’d seen in a long time. 

Madanach felt his heart break at the thought of never seeing that smile again.

“Don’t leave me,” he finally managed to get out. “Please.”

Ulfric didn’t react but when he spoke again, something about him seemed to have softened, just a little.

“Do you think, given time, you could love me back?” Ulfric asked, and the yearning in his voice threatened to break Madanach all over again. Because that was as good as a romantic declaration, wasn’t it? Ulfric had just essentially admitted he loved him… and Madanach should be happy, shouldn’t he? He certainly wanted to be. He certainly wasn’t _unhappy._

But he didn’t know if he’d ever get better enough to be able to love Ulfric properly.

“You can do so much better than me,” Madanach whispered. “Look at me, I’m a mess. Don’t you want someone who’s not broken?”

He was surprised to hear the snort of laughter from Ulfric.

“Don’t be a fool, man, no one whole is going to put up with me,” Ulfric said, sounding half amused, half sad. “I am more self-aware than you think. You are not the only one who has been shattered… but it turned out I am not completely broken beyond repair. You showed me that. Why would the same not be true for you?”

Madanach couldn’t stop the whimper coming from his throat, and the tears started to fall again, because he couldn’t see that future. Not yet. Maybe given time on his own, time to forget, time to heal… but Ulfric was right there, demanding time and attention and affection, and deserving all of that, and Madanach really really wanted to lavish it on him… but he could not get over the fear.

_Damn you, Mireen, even dead you can’t leave me alone._

Madanach was barely aware of the bed shifting, and then Ulfric moving closer and then strong Nordic arms were wrapping around him, pulling him close, Ulfric apparently making a decision… and apparently whatever his real feelings were, he wasn’t leaving Madanach. Not tonight anyway.

“Is this all right?” he heard Ulfric murmur, and Madanach snuggled in closer, crying quietly on Ulfric’s chest, and while it was only later he’d learn that this wasn’t a rare reaction at all, it was very common for long-term trauma victims to hold it together all through the crisis then lose it completely once safe, right now all he wanted was for all this to stop.

Funny thing, though. Ulfric’s arms were strong and warm and nestling into his chest had a way of helping Madanach feel safe. Absolutely nothing was getting past Ulfric in a hurry, and he was absolutely nothing like Mireen, and Madanach felt his nerves fading a little.

“Why do you always feel so warm?” Madanach whispered, and Ulfric kissed the top of his head, chuckling.

“I’m a Nord. We’re built to keep the cold out,” Ulfric told him, and Madanach finally risked glancing in his direction. To his surprise, Ulfric was smiling.

“You do seem to like cuddling me, don’t you,” Ulfric murmured, hand on the back of Madanach’s head and rubbing his fingers on his scalp.

“It’s nice,” Madanach whispered, resting his head on Ulfric’s chest. “You’re cuddly. Don’t know if you’re the sort of man who likes being called cuddly, but you are, you’re adorable, you’re seriously cute ‘n cuddly and...”

Laughter from Ulfric, who patted his back and let him go, indicating for him to lie back on the bed.

“Then cuddling it is,” he said, sounding surprisingly pleased for a man who probably wasn’t getting laid tonight. “Come on, rest. Sleep. We won’t do anything else tonight. We can talk more in the morning.”

“OK,” Madanach whispered, not resisting as Ulfric gently laid him down and started to remove his clothes, stripping him down to his underwear… and then pulling the covers over him before extinguishing the candlelights in the tent and slipping in alongside him. Ulfric reached out an arm, draping it over him as he moved to spoon around Madanach, kissing his cheek… and then withdrawing, clearly settling down for the night.

“You’re really not going to...” Madanach whispered, part of him feeling rather disappointed.

“Not tonight,” came the response, Ulfric’s voice soft and tender in the darkness. “Rushing you into anything would be a mistake, I think.”

“Oh,” Madanach breathed, feeling his chest constrict as it finally sank in that he just might be safe with Ulfric. Safe… and loved. 

“Did you mean it earlier,” Madanach whispered. “When… when you said your heart had followed. Do you really have feelings for me?”

“Yes, of course I do,” Ulfric sighed, sounding a little weary of the subject already. “Would I be here with you now, drying your eyes and comforting you, if I did not care for you?”

He hadn’t actually said the words, but Madanach found he didn’t need to hear them out loud. Ulfric’s actions said more than words ever could. Smiling, Madanach snaked an arm round Ulfric’s waist, head resting on his back.

“Give me time,” Madanach said quietly. “Give me time and I could love you back.”

Ulfric went very still for a few seconds, and then he turned round, finding Madanach’s face in the dark, cupping it in his hands and then kissing him, pouring all of himself into the kiss, scrupulously not touching him below the neck but making up for it with what his lips and tongue were up to.

Finally Ulfric let him go, kissing him on the forehead and withdrawing once more.

“Go on, rest,” he said, sounding happy and contented and Madanach just wanted to curl up and listen to that voice all night. “No one will harm you here.”

For the first time in years, Madanach believed it. Closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face. He was going to be all right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

When Madanach woke, it was to sunlight visible through the tent flaps, a quiet camp outside with everyone still in bed… and an arm draped round him with a warm body at his back.

Ulfric was snuggling up to him, and whatever had gone on the night before, he clearly still had a boyfriend.

“You’re awake!” Ulfric murmured, nuzzling his neck. “I’d wondered when you were going to. How are you feeling? Better?”

Madanach closed his eyes, because he wasn’t, not really, last night should have been amazing and it had been a disaster and he was lucky Ulfric hadn’t kicked him out.

But the cuddling was nice.

“Not really, but I’m glad you’re here,” Madanach said quietly, turning around and snuggling into Ulfric’s chest hair again, because that felt nice, even if everything else was terrifying. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“Never,” Ulfric said, kissing him on the cheek. “I refuse to let you go. For the first time in my life, I’ve seen someone and wanted them, desired them. Do you think me capable of turning my back on that, because your life has been hard and left you scarred? So has mine and you did not turn away. You made me seek help, you made sure I got treated even when I resisted every step of the way. So no, I will not walk away from you just because perhaps you need help too.”

Madanach could feel himself starting to tear up, because he honestly hadn’t realised Ulfric Stormcloak could be so… sweet. He elected not to say this out loud, but he did reach up and kiss him gently on the lips, then resting his forehead against Ulfric's, the two of them happy and content in each other’s arms.

Until it occurred to Madanach just what exactly Ulfric had said. For the first time in his life Ulfric had wanted and desired someone?? Surely not…

_I have to ask. It’ll likely get me Shouted out of the tent, but I have GOT to ask, partly because it would be unethical not to and partly because I_ must _hear this, and also tell Nepos because he’d find this hysterical if it’s true._

“Ulfric,” Madanach began. “Do you mind if I ask how old you are? I think you’re younger than me, right? I just turned 34 this year if it helps.”

Day after the siege ended, in fact. It had been a low-key celebration but a relieved and happy one, and his girls had behaved themselves, and no one had been on edge or worried about provoking Mireen’s rage, and he’d been able to have Argis and Inga there, and it wasn’t until he’d gone to bed that he’d realised every birthday could be a happy one from now on.

Assuming Ulfric made him happy, of course. But he had a feeling his chances were good.

“I am 29,” Ulfric told him. “I will be 30 in Sun’s Dusk. Why do you ask? It’s not an unusual age gap and we neither of us are that young.”

“I was curious,” Madanach said, grinning up at him. “Also something you said caught my attention. You said I was the first person who’d really caught your eye sexually? In nearly 30 years? Is that true?”

Ulfric had narrowed his eyes, staring suspiciously at him.

“Why do you ask?” Ulfric said again, defences going up inside, which was a crying shame now Madanach had got used to seeing him happy and carefree. “I hardly owe you an account of all the people I’ve not slept with, do I?”

“No… but I think I need to know your experience level,” Madanach said, gently rubbing a hand on his chest in slow, circular motions. “I saw a man only a little younger than me and made assumptions… but it turns out I might have been completely wrong. You said last night I’d likely had more men than you. Is that because the number’s zero? And… I have to ask… what about women? Have you had any of them?”

Madanach waited, waiting for the response, waiting for Ulfric to either deny it… well, he’d have to, right? There was no way a fit, healthy, attractive, charismatic and confident nobleman like Ulfric Stormcloak was a goddamn virgin. Absolutely no way.

And yet Ulfric Stormcloak had gone a delightful shade of pink.

“There have been… encounters,” Ulfric finally said, picking his words very carefully indeed. “During the war. All the Legion battalions attracted… camp followers. Merchants, traders, suppliers catering to an army’s needs. Including needs of the flesh. You understand I grew up in a monastery. High Hrothgar was my world until I came down and went to war. I had no opportunity to indulge, and my thoughts were focused on the Thu’um and the Voice of Kyne, not matters of the flesh. I controlled my body’s urges well enough. And then I was in the midst of an army camp, with my soldiers spending their off-duty hours either in each other’s arms or those of hired help, and I was not used to having so many people around. In battle or training, I was fine, but in my quieter hours, I tried to hear the Voice of Kyne but found it drowned out. Galmar, damn him, noticed. So did Rikke – she was serving with us. She’s still in the Legion now – stayed on after the war. She always was too loyal for her own good. But back then, we were comrades, and they both noticed I preferred spending my off hours alone. And Galmar queried why I never sought affection from anyone. He didn’t believe me when I told him I didn’t need it, and when he found out I had never been with anyone, he was shocked. He took me to where the paid professionals were camped out and handed me over to one of the prettier ones with most of his spare coin and orders to make a man of me. I have never come so close to hitting him.”

Given that Ulfric had been on the verge of assaulting Galmar only last night, that must have been something. Madanach almost wished he’d been there. It would have been hilarious.

“Did you go along with it or did you walk out?” Madanach asked, doing his best to keep his amusement under wraps. He didn’t quite succeed. Mercifully, Ulfric also seemed to see the funny side.

“He’d paid significantly over the odds and found me an actual Dibella worshipper as opposed to someone doing it just for coin,” Ulfric said, smiling just a little. “He meant well, and I was curious. So I went with her and… it was not unpleasant. But it wasn’t satisfying. It didn’t set my pulse racing. It had neither the adrenaline of battle nor the sweet bliss of communing with Kyne. Nevertheless, I persevered. I visited others. I even considered some of the men. But one look at most and I lost all interest. The male camp followers covered themselves in scent and make-up and gauzy fabrics, even more so than the women, and it just… it had no appeal. In my heart I knew I did not just want physical encounters with no meaning. I honour Dibella but she’s not my personal goddess. I don’t want softness and artifice. I want strength. I want firmness. I don’t want yielding without a fight. I want hard muscle and body hair and something like the rush of combat. And… I want it to mean something. It has to be a worthy opponent. It has to be an epic fight, and it has to either end with me glorying in victory but at the same time respecting them deeply for both their skill and in honouring me with the experience… or in surrendering to an inevitable victory at the hands of a worthy warrior. But I never met one. Not until I saw you on the battlements that day and realised there was an equal there. I saw you and knew I wanted to face you one on one. Of course, it took me a while to admit it, and I still don’t know what possessed me to say what I did. But I have no regrets.” 

Ulfric’s finger trailed down his cheek, fond smile returning to his face, and for all Ulfric spoke of not wanting softness, he was doing a good job of exuding gentleness in every movement. Madanach closed his eyes and leaned into his touch, lips pressing against Ulfric’s hand as the truth of Ulfric Stormcloak dawned on him. A warrior more at home on the battlefield than in the bedroom, and feeling most comfortable when something of that came to bed with him. A man who didn’t really feel beholden to pleasures of the flesh, or didn’t feel them strongly enough to bother with indulging them, but when he did finally find someone he clicked with, he gave himself wholeheartedly. Ulfric Stormcloak in love for the first time, feeling strong desire for the first time, and he’d chosen Madanach. Well, maybe not chosen exactly. But Madanach apparently was what he’d been looking for, without necessarily realising it.

Madanach was not a man given to sentiment, but even he couldn’t help but be touched by this. And just like that, his fear of intimacy faded away as he realised he could perhaps do this after all. Ulfric needed strength and firmness in his lovers… but he didn’t always need to win, and even a conquest would be made into something to sing about, a shared celebration for them both. And a loss… Victory or Sovngarde, Inga had said. The glory of winning… or a defeat so pleasurable it was worth the loss. 

Madanach could definitely do this. And so he reached down, hand going straight to Ulfric’s groin and only Ulfric’s loincloth separating Madanach’s hand from Ulfric’s cock as Madanach’s fingers curled round his impressive girth.

“So no one’s ever given you a really good handjob then,” Madanach purred, and from the way Ulfric’s eyes had shot open as Madanach’s fingers had found him, clearly they hadn’t.

“Madanach, what...” Ulfric gasped and Madanach laughed.

“About time we fixed that then, hmm?” Madanach told him, inching forward and using his free arm to pin Ulfric down at chest level. 

Ulfric struggled, but really not very hard, considering he could fight a bear on his own and win with no trouble. 

“What – Madanach – unggh!” Madanach had decided that if Ulfric really wasn’t happy, Ulfric would have no trouble expressing himself clearly, and kept right on moving his hand, firmly gripping Ulfric’s cock, only letting go to loosen Ulfric’s undergarments and get his hand on the thing itself.

Ulfric cried out, staring at him and trying to sit up, but Madanach pushed him back onto the bed.

“If you truly did not want this, you’d be Shouting me out of the tent,” Madanach murmured, shifting forward and grinning down at Ulfric lying beneath him, giving his cock a squeeze for good measure.

Ulfric closed his eyes and moaned, and finally stopped struggling, lying back on the bed, fingers curling into the sheets as Madanach kept up his strokes, grip firm and rhythm slow and steady, watching with quiet pleasure as Ulfric bit his lip, trying not to moan as he writhed in response to Madanach’s movements.

“That’s right, Ulfric,” Madanach breathed in his ear. “You can relax now. You don’t have to pretend any more. I can give you what you want.”

“Damn you, Madanach,” Ulfric whispered, but he made no move to throw Madanach off.

“Should I stop?” Madanach asked, and Ulfric actually whimpered.

“No,” he gasped. “No, don’t stop. Don’t stop – nnnggghh!”

By the gods, Madanach couldn't take his eyes off the man. 

_I want to see him come. I want to see him losing it in my arms._ Letting go of Ulfric’s cock, Madanach reached down to his own smallclothes to free his own, climbing on top of him and wedging himself between Ulfric’s legs.

The fact that Ulfric not only didn’t resist but actively assisted in this manoeuvre had to be a good sign. And once Madanach had released his hold on Ulfric’s chest, Ulfric reacted by reaching up and wrapping his arms around him, bringing him down for a kiss.

“More,” Ulfric gasped, forehead resting against Madanach’s. “I want more of you.”

Ulfric's hand on his back and then the other cupped Madanach’s backside, and Madanach felt control of the situation sliding away, but somehow it didn’t bother him. This was Ulfric, very definitely Ulfric, all muscle and body hair and facial hair against his as they kissed again, that magnificent cock of Ulfric’s up against his, and now Ulfric was thrusting up against him, grinding into him even as Madanach was thrusting in response.

Madanach closed his eyes, trying to keep back the orgasm that was threatening to overtake him, because Ulfric was kneading his backside, and Madanach was torn between wanting his cock up against Ulfric’s and wanting to back his arse into Ulfric’s hand. And Ulfric, damn him, was smiling.

“This feels good, yes?” Ulfric gasped, and gods help him, that voice made Madanach want to roll over and just let him do anything he liked. 

“Yes,” Madanach gasped, fighting to stave off orgasm. “Yes, it feels good. You?”

In answer, Ulfric moved his other hand, both of them now grabbing a buttock each and taking control of Madanach’s movements, dragging him closer and forcing their cocks together.

“You can be on top, but I am going to make you come,” Ulfric replied, definitely smirking now, and for someone who’d never been with another man before, someone was learning fast.

_I am not going to give you the satisfaction._ Alas for Madanach, he wasn’t far off now. But he could at least take Ulfric with him. Lifting his body up, he reached down with one hand, wrapping it round both their cocks and beginning to tug at them both.

Ulfric cried out but didn’t stop, speeding up his own movements, and it only took a few thrusts more before Madanach was coming, both hands gripping their cocks as Madanach came, seed shooting out onto Ulfric’s chest, and Ulfric’s hands tightened their grip on his arse as Ulfric closed his eyes.

“Now. Now, get me off, please, I need to,” Ulfric gasped, and while Madanach quite enjoyed the idea of making Ulfric beg to be allowed to come, today was not that day.

“Happy to,” Madanach growled, both hands on Ulfric’s cock and Ulfric by this point was done resisting, and soon Ulfric was coming too, seed spurting out from him even as Ulfric gritted his teeth, trying not to cry out as he came.

Finally Ulfric fell back against the pillows, eyes closed as he breathed heavily, and Madanach just about managed to stagger off, eyeing Ulfric’s water jug and washcloths and bringing both over so he could clean his lover up.

Ulfric smiled to himself as Madanach finished, reaching out to embrace him as he returned to bed.

“I love you,” Ulfric whispered to him, kissing him gently. “Yes, I’ll marry you. By the gods, never leave me.”

Which was adorable, but really, Ulfric shouldn’t be making decisions like that after one encounter.

“One good lay is no guarantee of happiness,” Madanach warned him. “For proof of which, just look at my marriage. The sex was fabulous – most of the time. Everything else…” Madanach shuddered at the memory.

“Your second will be better,” Ulfric told him, kissing his forehead as he enfolded him in his arms. “I will make sure of it. I can’t… I _will not_ have you suffer or be unhappy. You cannot give me pleasure like that and act like it doesn’t matter. You’ve given me a treasure beyond price, my love.”

“I gave you an orgasm,” Madanach murmured drowsily. “It’s not uncommon.”

“Perhaps it is for me,” Ulfric whispered, smiling gently at Madanach, and Madanach could only feel sorry for Ulfric on hearing this admission.

“Well, it’s about time I fixed that, isn’t it?” Madanach whispered, and Ulfric kissed him again.

“See,” Ulfric said, grinning. “Treasure beyond price. How could I let you go now?”

Madanach truly didn’t know what to say to that, because no one, literally no one, had ever called him a treasure beyond price before, particularly for so little effort on his part, and he could feel tears in his eyes at the thought.

So he said nothing and snuggled up next to Ulfric, and for at least a little while longer, the two of them had not a care in the world.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madanach and Ulfric are back to their daily routines... but their last meeting has changed them both and neither can go back to the way they were. Perhaps it's time they stopped pretending otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was almost smut but I ran out of writing spoons and the chapter was 18 pages already. So, you get this instead. As well as Ulfric and Madanach giving up the pretence of dancing around each other and just going for it, you've also got appearances from Nepos and the kids being kids. Including four year old Kaie making her first appearance! You all wanted to see the tough-talking Forsworn stalwart as a little baby girl with a pink bunny, didn't you?

Madanach arrived back at his keep, mind buzzing with thoughts, feelings, memories, regrets, everything, and what was preoccupying him most of all wasn’t anything sexual, surprisingly enough, but Ulfric’s face, newly healed from scars, and the dazzling smile on his face as a happy Nord drew him into his arms and called him a treasure beyond price… and a deeply unhappy Ulfric howling with rage and destroying a solid stone Nord table after finding out he’d never failed his Empire after all.

The Thalmor had hurt and broken Ulfric, and it had taken extreme measures and a good deal of luck to even begin fixing him again, and unlike Mireen who definitely wasn’t coming back from the dead any time soon, Elenwen the Thalmor Interrogator was still out there and alive, and the Thalmor itself had plenty more like her. And the worst thing was, the Thalmor would have every interest now in infiltrating and destabilising the Reach, which meant it was also now Madanach’s problem.

But not as big a problem as the small fur-clad blur streaking down the Keep towards him.

“DADDY!” 

Princess Kaie of the Reach launched herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably as she clung on to him, bawling her eyes out despite all Madanach’s attempts to comfort her.

“I’m sorry, little one,” Madanach murmured to his four year old child, kissing her cheek and holding her to him. “You were worried, weren’t you. I’m sorry, cariad, I didn’t mean to abandon you. I had to help a friend out.”

Kaie tightened her grip and scowled.

“Uff’wic,” she muttered. “Don’t like him.”

Oh good, the four year old hated him already.

“You haven’t even met him, cariad,” Madanach told her, rubbing her chin. Kaie’s glare just intensified.

“I don’t LIKE him!” Kaie snapped, looking like she was about to cry again. “He made everybody hungry and Mama died and you went away and I was scared and...”

There wasn’t a lot Madanach could do about that other than whisper he was sorry, and so was Ulfric, and Kaie wouldn’t go hungry any more, and Kaie made him promise, really promise this time, promise on Pinky’s life!

Pinky was Kaie’s toy rabbit, which was unaccountably not with her, which was unusual because Kaie almost always had it with her (Kaie was very firmly of the opinion that Pinky wasn’t a boy or a girl and didn’t use pronouns at all, so Madanach had yielded on that one and declared Pinky the first gender-neutral bunny in the Reach. Which had led to inquiries on when he was going to allow non-binary genders in Reach-law, which had led to consultations with Nepos and eventual agreement citizens of the Reach could change their gender albeit no more than once a year, and that that gender could be other or none if you wanted).

And then Pinky’s location was revealed as Nepos the Nose wandered into view, Kaie’s pink genderqueer bunny in his hands.

“Kaie, cariad, you left Pinky behind, Pinky was very worried, you know. Pinky was worried you’d forgotten or didn’t like Pinky any more.”

“Pinky!” Kaie cried, brightening up and reclaiming her bunny. “Pinky, I found Daddy, look! He came home!”

“Yes, he came home,” Nepos said, patting Kaie’s shoulder and sounding every inch the calm and wise uncle… at least until his eyes fell on Madanach. “ _Eventually._ ”

Kaie giggled, grinning up at him, clearly aware her father was being told off.

“I don’t owe you an account of my every move, Nepos,” Madanach sighed. “For the record, Ulfric was missing, we went to find him, we found him, all was well and I stayed at their camp due to it being late. Honestly, I sent word back!”

“You did at least manage that,” Nepos admitted grudgingly. “Well, you should know that apart from your child here being distraught and likely to never trust you again, everything at the Keep is fine, Eithne and Amaleen are in magic lessons, Argis is with his tutor doing some reading and writing practice, and the usual paperwork is awaiting you on your desk.”

Madanach scowled, hoping for at least a few hours to himself. But the Reach didn’t run itself and there were endless matters to be dealt with, from trade deals with the strongholds and the Western Reachmen to approving the guard rotas to picking up a few court cases that had fallen by the wayside during the siege.

 _I wish Ulfric were here._ Madanach had a sudden urge for a big, burly man to sweep him off his feet, carry him away to the bedroom and announce that no one would be bothering the Reach-King for the rest of the afternoon. Alas, he wasn’t here.

But thinking of Ulfric reminded him that perhaps arrangements needed to be made regarding said Ulfric, and perhaps he could deal with that. And so he promised Kaie on Pinky’s life that he would see her later and read her a story, and asked Nepos if they could talk.

Nepos acquiesced, and it wasn’t long before the two men were ensconced in Nepos’s quarters, Nepos quietly pouring Madanach a jenever and taking a seat across from him.

“Well, Madanach, how was it?” Nepos asked, his more public manner gone as he finally allowed his real feelings to show through. “Are you all right? I was told you slept in Ulfric's tent. I’m not going to judge you for your choices and it’s entirely your own business but are you absolute sure you’re ready for this? You only just lost Mireen, and I know you’re not mourning, but don’t tell me you don’t need to recover.”

Madanach couldn't rightfully disagree there, and left to himself he’d have been in no hurry to remarry… but the big Nord had a way of worming into your affections and refusing to budge.

“I know, Nepos, but I’m kind of fond of him now,” Madanach sighed. “He’s not like I thought he was. I thought he was some violent thug, but he’s not. He’s really bright, very cunning… and he’s got a romantic streak, would you believe?”

“Frankly, I would not,” Nepos said, starting to laugh… and then his smile faded as he realised his king was serious. “Oh no. Madanach, no. Don’t tell me feelings are involved.”

“Afraid so,” Madanach admitted. “I found things out about him. His past. And he’s… he’s had a really rough time, but last night things happened, and Galmar and I all ended up sitting and listening while he told us things he’d been bottling up for years, and then the two of them ended up having an emotional conversation and getting things out in the open that really needed talking about, and then we all cuddled and took Ulfric back to camp. And then he invited me back to his tent and I said yes and… and we had sex, sort of, and I managed it eventually, and he-”

“Managed it eventually??” Nepos interrupted, glaring. “Madanach, what happened?? Are you all right? He didn’t force you, did he?”

“No!” Madanach snapped. “Look, all right, maybe I panicked a bit and couldn't go through with it and ended up crying over him and begging him to not leave me, and...” Madanach took a deep breath, because it wasn’t pleasant to remember, it was embarrassing and he’d rather forget it ever happened… but he owed Nepos honesty.

“Ulfric was… OK with it. I mean he was hurt and angry, but when he found out it was because Mireen hurt me and I was scared, it wasn’t at me. He told me he had no intention of hurting me. We ended up cuddling and in the morning we talked a bit more, and then I gave him a handjob because he deserved it after putting up with me having a nervous breakdown on him, and then he called me a treasure beyond price and told me he was never leaving me.”

The memory brought tears to his eyes as he remembered strong arms around him and Ulfric’s voice in his ears, words gentle but even Ulfric’s gentlest tones throbbed with a power that sent shivers down Madanach’s spine.

“Oh Madanach,” and Nepos didn’t even sound angry at this point. Just sad. “I told you this was a bad idea. You’re not ready! And you’re lucky he was all right with it. He could have hurt you, Madanach.”

Madanach knew that, but he hadn’t, had he? Ulfric had been kinder than he’d expected, and then Madanach had had to go home, and the wrench had felt almost physical.

“I miss him,” Madanach whispered, huddling in on himself, and Nepos moved closer until he was sitting next to Madanach, clucking as he took him in his arms and while it wasn’t Ulfric, it was something.

“Oh Madanach,” Nepos said again, rather softer this time. “You poor man. You’re developing feelings, aren’t you.”

Madanach didn’t say anything, tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat and feeling like a complete and utter mess, but Nepos was here and Nepos wasn’t judging him. And so they sat there, Madanach snuggled in his steward’s arms, afraid of the future but also missing the warmth and vibrancy Ulfric brought into his life. 

“Do you want to see a mind-healer,” Nepos said quietly. “I know we brought one in for the girls, and I think it is helping. I think you might need one too.”

Madanach and Nepos had decided that, yes, and after telling everyone it was so the girls could have an outlet for their feelings about their mother’s death, they’d arranged for a couple of skilled Forsworn mind-healers to see to them. Never mind that Eithne’s main feelings were pleasure and Amaleen’s a guilty relief. Kaie was grieving, and Madanach knew even his older two perhaps needed help. And then Argis had joined in, initially out of solidarity, but then it turned out the new Reach-Prince apparently wanted someone to talk to about how it felt to go from being a poor kid in the Warrens to suddenly being the King’s son and worrying that people resented him for it and his mother wasn’t adjusting that well and… Madanach hadn’t realised his son had been feeling that way, and the guilt had been gnawing at him.

He’d not even considered one for himself, but maybe it was time. He’d made Ulfric get help, hadn’t he?

“Contact the Temple, I’ll talk to one of the priestesses,” Madanach said, resigning himself to the inevitable. “Can’t keep crying on your shoulder, can I. Or gods help me, Ulfric's. I don’t think he’s a very patient man.”

“You know him better than I do,” Nepos said, patting him on the back. “But it does seem to me that if he put up with you bawling all over him and still thinks you’re a treasure beyond price, he’s clearly willing to put in the effort for people he cares about.”

Madanach couldn't help but smile fondly, and even if part of him was worried that Ulfric might not care forever, it didn’t change the fact Ulfric cared right now. Which brought up all sorts of feelings that Madanach didn’t entirely care to unpack just yet, but they weren’t unpleasant either.

Whatever happened, Madanach wanted Ulfric to be safe and happy and smiling. That thought appealed. It wasn’t just trying to protect his family and his kingdom any more. He actively wanted Ulfric to be all right.

“The Thalmor sent him here,” Madanach growled. “The bastards who inspired our uprising but refused to help after they lost their war manipulated him during the war when he was their prisoner, and they manipulated him into coming here. I think this was supposed to cause an incident that would spark either another war or enough ill-feeling that the Nords eventually rebel, but we definitely weren’t supposed to cling on to power and Ulfric wasn’t meant to side with us. Pure luck things worked out the way they did. The Thalmor won’t like that, and they won’t like that we’re suddenly providing a safe haven for Talos-worshippers – by Sithis, Nepos, I can hardly believe it myself.”

“Nor can I, but I did anticipate something like this,” Nepos said, patting his back. “Don’t worry, Madanach, I’ve identified the Thalmor agents amongst the Forsworn, and a few in Markarth. A few have been dealt with by their camp Matriarchs already, and a few more were easy enough to frame or legitimately prosecute for other things. Did you want the rest dealt with? Or a few left alive to feed misinformation back? A couple of them have already offered to be double agents.”

“Keep those alive but have them watched. Keep a couple of others around too – don’t let them know we’re on to them, keep them away from anything critical,” Madanach said, considering his options. “We purge all their agents, they’ll just turn a few more. Or send people in. Also don’t send any more envoys. They won’t acknowledge us officially? Fine, gives us more leeway. No treaty means we can kill their justiciars when they start sniffing around our borders. Also, Ulfric says he’s written to his father, Jarl Hoag of Windhelm. Send envoys to him. With gifts. Invite him to visit his son. I know this sort of thing is meant to go via their King, so keep it more of a personal visit. King Madanach wants to meet his future father-in-law, that sort of thing. When he does get here, give him the full guest of honour welcome, and if he does raise the question of diplomatic relations, we’d be happy to meet with King Istlod, would he be willing to put in a word?”

“I do like the way your mind works, Madanach,” Nepos said cheerfully. “Very well, I’ll make the arrangements. Anything else?”

“Not today,” Madanach said, yawning. “Gods, I’m tired. Has Kaie had lunch yet? The other kids? I’m thinking I should eat with them, remind them I exist.”

“Eola’s been fed, but the others are probably finishing their morning tuition around now – if they’re not, I can send people to start rounding them up while the kitchen gets lunch ready. Head to your room, I’ll have them all with you in the next half hour,” Nepos said, and Madanach quietly gave thanks for having such a capable steward. The Keep really was quite turning into a pleasant place to be just lately, with the siege over and everyone too relieved to be any trouble, and his court was running better than ever. Life really was quite calm and restful and enjoyable, and Madanach was starting to wonder if this was what happiness felt like.

But there was a storm called Ulfric on the horizon, and whether the Reach Court was really ready for it was another matter entirely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Five days later, and all was not well in Hroldan. The town was calm enough. Everything was going well, nothing was broken, the hunting and fishing were excellent, and the ReachGuard had been by with listings of jobs the Mournful Throne wanted doing that a band of Nord mercenaries might be able to help with: border patrols, escort duties on the roads, road patrols, clearing out of caves where beasts had taken up residence. Galmar had taken the details and started assigning soldiers to deal with the problems, and sat back in anticipation of chests of gold from Nepos’s payroll office. 

But it left Ulfric with very little to do, and without a task to occupy him, his thoughts kept turning to Madanach. Madanach on top of him, Madanach kissing him, Madanach’s hair between his fingers, Madanach writhing underneath him and crying out his name, Madanach doing… damn it. Ulfric didn’t know enough about what two men might to do with each other. Were there books? There had to be books. Illustrated ones? There HAD to be illustrated ones. But there weren’t any in camp that he knew of, and damned if he was asking Galmar to get him some, and there was absolutely no way he was having this conversation with the Khajiit traders.

He definitely wasn’t discussing this with Sister Hamal. But she could tell something was up and he couldn’t put her off forever. Maybe time to take this from a different angle.

“Madanach’s bedded men,” Ulfric said, not bothering with preamble. Hamal blinked, looked a bit surprised, and nodded.

“I have heard he had male lovers in his youth, but he’s been married for over a decade,” Hamal told him. “I don’t think you need worry about him being unfaithful. Or were you worried he might find you lacking as a lover?”

Ulfric shuffled a bit uncomfortably, that second option being far too close to the mark for his liking.

“Not exactly,” Ulfric muttered. “I just… wish to please him, that’s all. Ugh. What’s wrong with me? I can’t stop thinking about him. It hasn’t even been a week. I shouldn't need to seek him out again so soon. And yet I want more than anything to see him again. This isn’t normal, is it?? I’m a Nord and a warrior, I’m not some lovesick wench pining over her first love.”

“But you’ve not been in love before,” Hamal noted. “And first and foremost, Ulfric, you’re human. We all have feelings, Ulfric. And we all want to be close to the people we care about. It’s natural to miss him, especially early on. It’s perfectly normal to want to be around your new lover all the time.”

Ulfric shifted awkwardly on his chair, scowling. If it was so normal, why had Madanach seemed to find it so easy to leave.

“Then where is he,” Ulfric growled. “It has been days and no word. I will not be the one to snap and go running after him. I am not crawling to Markarth begging for his company! I will not give him the satisfaction.”

Hamal’s weary sigh as she rubbed her forehead was becoming familiar to Ulfric by this point.

“Ulfric, this is not a competition. He knows your secrets, saw you vulnerable and didn’t judge you. And you told me he’d shown vulnerability to you as well. He told you about Mireen, a little. I don’t think he’s talked to anyone about that. There have been rumours, ever since he took the city. And it’s known that those mindhealers he brought in for his children are not there to see them through their grief but to help them get better from the abuse. But officially or otherwise, he’s never discussed it, I don’t think. That he was willing to admit it to you… that means he trusts you, at least a little. Give him the same trust in return. Meet him half way. If you miss him, pay him a visit. Or write to him. He won’t have forgotten you. But he’s a king and a father, he’s a busy man with demands on his time. You might need to make your presence felt. It’s not Madanach you’re competing with, but you might need to insist on space for your relationship.”

Ulfric narrowed his eyes, not liking the idea of having to fight for Madanach’s attention, especially when the foe was paperwork. He’d never shied away from a fight though, and there was something appealing about striding into Markarth, hauling Madanach off that throne and kissing him before dragging him off to bed.

Even if he wasn’t sure what he’d do with him when he got him there.

“He has bedded men before,” Ulfric said, brooding. “What if…?”

“Yes?” Hamal prodded. “This is bothering you, isn’t it? Why not talk about it.”

“It is ridiculous,” Ulfric sighed. “He knows my history, it didn’t bother him. It should not bother me.”

“You’re worried about your performance,” Hamal guessed. “You think he’ll be judging you? Ulfric, I don’t think you need to. He’s father to five children. He’s patient with them. I don’t think he’s expecting or wanting a highly skilled lover – I think he just wants someone who will treat him with respect.”

“Well, he deserves better than that,” Ulfric said obstinately. “And it bothers me that I might not be able to give it to him.”

“You don’t know that, Ulfric,” Hamal said, voice tender as she reached out to take his hand. “Healthy relationships are based on both partners learning and growing together. Maybe you can learn from him what he likes, and maybe he can learn from you what it’s like to have a partner who truly cares for him. You do truly care for him, don’t you?”

“Of course I-” Ulfric snapped, and then he stopped, remembering Madanach in his arms as they kissed goodbye, and Madanach seeming happy and carefree, just a man with his lover, the worries of kingship and fatherhood lifted for a little while.

“Of course I do,” Ulfric said, voice softening. “I just want him to feel the same.”

“I’m sure he does,” Hamal said, reaching over to squeeze Ulfric’s hand. “But the best way to know for sure is to talk to him.”

Easier said than done. What was he suppose to do, walk into Understone Keep and demand an audience? It felt beneath him. And yet he missed Madanach.

Ulfric had no answer to this one, and they could have talked round this one all day… and then the tent flap opened and Galmar stuck his head in.

“Sorry, Sister. A letter just got here for Ulfric. It’s from the Keep. Got some cursed rune seal on it that already gave Thorbjorn a shock when he touched it. The smug witchmen who brought it say if anyone other than the intended recipient tries to open it, it summons Atronachs.”

Hamal just smiled and indicated for Ulfric to take the letter. 

“Tell Thorbjorn that if he interferes with my mail again, I’m giving him the lash personally,” Ulfric said, all eyes on the letter in Galmar’s hands, taking it off him and staring at the single word on the front. _Ulfric_ , written in handwriting that must be Madanach’s. 

“Will do,” Galmar said cheerfully and disappeared to go tell Thorbjorn off. Ulfric turned it over and saw a glowing ‘M’ rune with a crowned eagle at the back shining up at him, and underneath a handwritten note.

_Ulfric: put your thumb on the seal to remove it. Anyone else, breaking this seal will be very bad for your health._

So Ulfric placed his thumb on the seal, winced a little as it glowed… and then it vanished, the letter falling open.

“What’s he saying?” Hamal asked, curious, and Ulfric scanned the contents, realising that Madanach, contrary to popular opinion of the witchmen, could write… and write well. Ulfric’s own handwriting wasn’t bad, and the Greybeards had seen to his education well enough. He’d not expected elegant and practised handwriting from the King of the Witchmen.

_Dear Ulfric,_

_I made it back to Markarth without incident, and my children have just about forgiven me for abandoning them. I don’t think I can justify leaving them on their own again for a while though, especially not Kaie. She really doesn’t like not knowing where I am._

_That means I can’t come to Hroldan right now. But it doesn’t mean you can’t come to Markarth. I know last time didn’t go as planned, but I’d like to make it up to you. I’m inviting you to come and visit, as soon as is convenient, so I can spend some time with you properly. I can get you quarters of your own in the Keep if you want._

_Or if you’d rather, you can stay in mine. I must warn you, there’s a high chance of at least one child needing my attention in any given night, whether it’s Eola refusing to settle or Kaie having nightmares, and they’re very keen on coming to see me in the morning. But my bed’s always open to you._

_Come and see me soon, cariad. I’ve missed you. I don’t have as much free time as I’d like, but perhaps I won't need to fill my days with working if there’s a handsome Nord to put his arms around me and call me a treasure beyond price again._

_That’s you, by the way. Get over here._

_Love  
Madanach_

_PS. Kaie’s toy rabbit is called Pinky and does not have pronouns. Do not use pronouns when referring to the rabbit in question. Amaleen’s favourite doll is called Ingrid – might have been named after Inga. Amaleen doesn’t like putting her down or being away from her – Mireen used to get rid of her toys sometimes without telling her. Ingrid is due for a bath, and this is always traumatic for everyone and will require my personal attention. I could use a hand and/or shoulder to cry on afterwards. Argis is trying to learn the Thu’um. He is getting nowhere, but he and Eithne are having fun with their own made-up version. I’m fairly certain I’d rather neither of them learnt it but I think they might like some real Thu’um lore from an expert._

Ulfric wouldn’t call himself an expert, but the idea of Argis showing an interest in the Thu’um was unexpected and actually made him feel rather emotional. As was Madanach essentially giving him tips on how to befriend his kids (even if some of it was clearly a plea for help with parenting).

And he wanted to see him. Ulfric had been slowly going crazy from lack of contact, and it seemed Madanach had been feeling the same. 

“Should I write back today?” Ulfric whispered, suddenly feeling very unsure of himself and worried. “Is it too soon? What do I say to him?”

He handed the letter to Hamal who read it and smiled.

“Do you want quarters of your own or are you happy to stay in his?” Hamal asked. “And whatever your answer, it doesn’t have to be permanent.”

“His of course,” Ulfric said, before wondering if Madanach really wanted him in his bed or if he’d be better off giving him space, and then he told himself not to be ridiculous, Madanach wouldn't have offered if he hadn’t meant it, right?

“Then if you want to see him, you may leave as soon as you please and go to Markarth in response,” Hamal told him, handing the letter back. “It sounds like he’s keen to see you again. He said to visit as soon as is convenient for you, then ended with ‘get over here’. I don’t think he’ll mind if you turn up. You could go today if you like?”

Ulfric could go today. Ulfric could leave right now if he wanted. Ulfric could be in Madanach’s arms tonight.

“Sister,” Ulfric said, getting up before he could talk himself out of what might make it look like he was the type to drop everything for the Reach-King, “thank you. I will start packing at once. I… don’t know how long this invitation is for. I might be back in a few days. Or it might be longer. I will definitely write when I’m more certain.”

Hamal smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“If your residence there is likely to be lengthy, I have no problem relocating to the Temple,” Hamal said as she got to her feet. “I will still be willing to support you for as long as you need me.”

Ulfric hadn’t expected that to be as touching as it was.

“Thank you,” Ulfric gasped, pulling her into a bear hug. “ _Thank you._ I know I am not the easiest of people to work with… but thank you. You have helped.”

Hamal wiped a tear away and told Ulfric she wished him well. And then she left him to pack, sure that when she next saw him, things would be different for him. She was quite right on that score.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Daddy, no!”

“Amaleen,” Madanach sighed, holding out a hand and kneeling down. “Amaleen, Ingrid needs cleaning. She’s getting grubby. She’ll start to smell. Can we please have Ingrid so we can bathe her?”

“Noooo!” Amaleen wailed, cries echoing all round Understone Keep, clutching on to her doll, terrified it might end up on the fire like the last one had, even though Mireen was no longer around to do it. “No, don’t take her, Daddy please!”

“I won’t take her,” Madanach promised. “You can help with the bath, we’ll hang her up to dry where you can see her, there’ll be a rune to help with that, you can have her straight back when she’s dry, I promise.”

“Promise?” Amaleen whispered tearfully. 

“I promise,” Madanach told her, and slowly, hesitantly, Amaleen held out Ingrid, hands shaking and tears in her eyes. That had been less traumatic than Madanach had feared. Relieved, he took the doll off her and handed it over to one of the Keep’s servants, who carried the doll off to just outside the kitchen, where a bath was waiting for it.

Amaleen stared after, tears in her eyes, now no longer sure what to do with her hands without a doll to cuddle, and Madanach rubbed her back. It had been easier than expected in the end, but that didn’t mean it was plain sailing from here.

“Well done, little one,” Madanach said quietly. “That was very brave of you. I know it was hard, and I know you miss her. But you’ll have her back with you by tonight. Did you want to go and help with washing her?”

Amaleen shook her head and clung on to her father, and Madanach wearily realised the only thing that would make Amaleen happy was getting her doll back as soon as possible.

Well, maybe if that happened as promised, future doll washings might be less traumatic. But that didn’t change the fact this one was going to be hard on everyone.

“Did you want to play with Pinky, Amaleen?”

Kaie, bless her, had toddled up and was holding out Pinky to her sister, looking a bit worried herself. Amaleen barely glanced at Kaie, shaking her head and clinging on to Madanach.

“I don’t think Amaleen really wants to play at the moment, cariad, but thank you for offering,” Madanach told her. Kaie pouted, lower lip trembling, and then she darted forward and cuddled Amaleen anyway. Kaie had a good heart, she really did. At least she was here, trying to help. Unlike Eithne, who at the first hint of Doll Washing Day had grabbed Argis, informed him ‘we’re playing outside today, Argis!’ and fled the Keep with her brother in tow. 

Words were going to be had later, but right now, his main concern was Amaleen. Who was clearly going to require a lot of attention this afternoon.

“Come on, did you want a story?” he said, and it was a measure of Amaleen’s distress that she barely reacted.

“Story?” Kaie whispered hopefully. He’d have one eager listener at least, and maybe Amaleen would perk up a bit too. He could but hope.

“Da! DA!”

Eithne, finally deciding to put in an appearance. She was racing down the Keep’s central hall, hair flying out behind her, seeming quite excited about something.

“Oh, now you turn up?” Madanach sighed. “What happened. And where’s your brother.”

Eithne, gasping for breath, dropped to her knees and pointed behind her, before dramatically slumping to the floor and lying splayed out on the stone in a move she’d clearly copied off Argis.

“Eiffne?” Kaie was saying, nervously. “Are you all right?”

“I’m dying,” Eithne said, waving vaguely at the Keep entrance. “I have raced valiantly all the way from the city gate to bring tidings of the coming of the Dread Nord himself. It’s too late for me, but you can still save yourselves!”

She’d definitely picked this up off Argis. Madanach chose to ignore her, because her words had caught his attention. Dread Nord?

Sure enough, Ulfric was here, a pack on his back and another bag in his hand, looking like he’d packed for an extended stay, striding up the Keep without even looking as if the weight bothered him, no guards or anything but having what looked like an animated conversation with Argis.

He felt Amaleen draw nearer to him, and Kaie had also squeaked and dived behind him.

“Hush, he’s not here to fight,” Madanach told them, feeling his heart skip. “I wrote to him earlier today. I didn’t think he’d turn up so quickly?”

Or at all. He’d expected letters, negotiations maybe, a bit of posturing perhaps. He’d not expected Ulfric Stormcloak to show up in person the same day, bags in hand and having a friendly conversation with the son they were going to co-parent.

“Don’t be discouraged, Argis, it is not an easy thing to learn,” Ulfric was saying. “It took me years to master one Shout, and I was in a monastery with little else to do with my days and the masters of the Thu’um to teach me. You will not find it easy with the distractions of Markarth around you.”

“Well can I go to High Hrothgar then?” Argis asked, and it took all Madanach’s self-control not to roar NO down the Keep. To his credit, Ulfric did hesitate at that.

“Ah. Lad. I don’t believe your mother will allow it. I think if mine had lived, she would have forbidden me from going. As for your father, I am certain he will say no. Argis, you know it would be forever, don’t you? You would never see home again.”

“You came back,” Argis pointed out.

“Aye,” Ulfric said, his expression darkening. “But I was not supposed to. I only left because of the war with the elves. It was not a popular decision, and the Greybeards were not pleased with me. I left in disgrace, Argis. It’s a fate I accepted, but I will always wonder if I did the right thing. I would rather you did not end up doing the same.”

Argis subsided, clearly not having expected an actual answer other than ‘absolutely not, you are not going, end of story, stop asking’, and actually looking like he was thinking all this over. Madanach really hadn’t expected that. He’d hoped Ulfric might provide a few insights, or at least something Argis and Eithne could copy when playing. He’d not expected Ulfric to go as far as taking Argis seriously but at the same time pointing out the obstacles.

It was unexpected and a relief and a pleasure, and as Madanach got to his feet, he found himself smiling.

“Ulfric Stormcloak,” Madanach purred, hands on his hips. “Hello there. I’d not expected you – did you get my letter? I only sent it this morning.”

“Aye, I received it,” Ulfric said, letting one bag fall to the floor and slipping the other off his   
back. “You sounded distressed. I cannot in good conscience let you undergo the harrowing trial of the Washing of Ingrid alone.”

Amaleen cried out at the reminder, clutching at Madanach’s kilt and Madanach winced even as he put an arm round her.

“Ingrid’s being bathed as we speak,” Madanach admitted. “Amaleen is being very brave, aren’t you inyeen.”

Amaleen looked like she was about to cry again. Ulfric nodded at him in understanding and knelt down to get a better look at her.

“The gods smile on the brave, little one,” Ulfric told her. “Hold on. It will not be forever. You will have your friend back soon.”

Amaleen didn’t look any too sure about that, staring back at Ulfric, heartbreak all over her face.

“You won’t take her away? Or… or burn her?”

Ulfric's eyebrows shot up, eyes turning to Madanach with questions.

“Mireen,” was all Madanach said. “I wondered why she was losing so many toys and had my suspicions… let’s just say she’s not truly convinced her toys will still be there if she puts them down.”

Ulfric's expression briefly turned angry – but then with an effort he forced more gentle emotions onto his face.

“Your toys will come to no harm from me,” he promised. “Hardly honourable to sing about breaking a little girl’s toys, is it?”

Amaleen’s grip on Madanach loosened as she shuffled out.

“Really?” she whispered. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Ulfric told her, clenched fist to his chest. “You have my word as a Nord.”

“And you think I’m a girl and you’ll call me Amaleen?” Amaleen whispered, eyes widening as she stepped forward, apparently feeling rather braver.

“Of course you’re a girl,” Ulfric said, puzzled. “And what else would I call you? It’s your name, is it not?”

“YES!” Amaleen cried, darting forward and cuddling Ulfric, before letting him go and running to where Eithne was still lying on the stone floor. “Eithne, I want to play a game!”

“Let me go to my final rest,” Eithne moaned. “I died bravely. I’m in that Sovngarde place Nords go to. They’ve got iced treats and sweet rolls.”

“You’re not dead!” Amaleen snapped, stamping her foot. “I wanna play! Daddy, make her!”

Madanach could feel the headache mounting and it was taking all his self-control not to snap at them, and then Kaie wanted to know when she was getting the story he’d promised.

And then, bless the boy, Argis walked over to where Eithne was lying prostrate, shook his head and announced that if Eithne was dead, they’d better take her to the Hall of the Dead, and started dragging her by the foot, much to Amaleen’s delight.

“OW! ARGIS GET OFF ME!” Eithne yelped, kicking at him and scrambling to her feet. “Gods, alright, FINE. We will play a game. What about ‘what’s the time, Mr. Daedra?’ And I’m being the Daedra.”

Amaleen agreed and Argis had no problem with this, but Kaie still wanted a story.

“If you play with us, I will tell you the story of the Big Friendly Dragon,” Argis promised, and that seemed to be enough for her.

“OK!” Kaie said cheerfully, and the four of them promptly ran off, seeming to forget Ulfric was even there. The Keep seemed strangely quiet once they’d gone.

Ulfric got to his feet, brushing himself off and turning his attention back to Madanach.

“Are you all right?” Ulfric asked, serious this time. “You do appear a little harassed. You’re fortunate the four of them seem able to entertain each other.”

“I am indeed,” Madanach agreed. “I have discovered Argis is an absolute genius at defusing and avoiding fights and tantrums, and Amaleen and Kaie will do whatever he tells them. In return he’s quite happy to play with them even if it does occasionally mean he ends up going home with flowers woven into his hair. He doesn’t seem to mind, I get some peace, the girls are having fun, everyone is happy, and thanks to you and Argis, Amaleen will forget about Ingrid for a few hours, by which point she might be dry and ready to play with again. The Great Trauma has been averted. Praise Na- praise the gods.”

“Indeed,” Ulfric said, stepping forward, a little nervous now he was finally alone with Madanach. “So. You… wanted to see me? I thought I… should visit.”

The nerves were catching, but Madanach had invited him, hadn’t he? And so he stepped forward, slid his arms round Ulfric’s neck and in full view of various guards and servants, (not all of whom actually had work-related reasons to be there but somehow had ended up wandering in anyway, purely coincidentally at the same time Ulfric arrived, of course) kissed Ulfric gently on the lips.

Ulfric closed his eyes and kissed him back, also surprisingly gently considering he was a fierce Nord warrior, and then his lips left Madanach’s but his arms were pulling him into a warm Nordic embrace.

“It is good to see you again,” Ulfric whispered in his ear. “I missed you.”

An admission Madanach hadn’t truly expected to hear. He’d spent the last week convincing himself Ulfric must be reconsidering. And yet here he was.

Madanach tightened his grip and snuggled into him, and Ulfric cuddled him back. Clearly he’d got to the stage where openly admitting and showing affection no longer felt like weakness. It was progress.

Madanach wished showing affection didn’t still feel like baring his chest and painting a target on it, but he’d got this far, hadn’t he?

“Didn’t think you’d come,” Madanach whispered back. “Thought I’d be exchanging letters for weeks before you came to see me.”

Another kiss on the top of his head and more cuddling.

“I’m not patient enough for all that,” Ulfric said, sounding amused at the idea of emotional fencing before a second date. “I’m a Nord. We don’t do long courtship. Maybe there are matters still to be settled, but we established the basics, no? You are fond of me, yes? My presence is welcome, hmm?”

Madanach admitted that yes, yes it was, and he was glad Ulfric was here.

“And I have an unexpected free afternoon, gods, do you know how rare those are??” Madanach gasped as he realised he had a few hours with _nothing scheduled_ because he’d assumed he’d be intensively parenting Amaleen all day and not taken into account his other children stepping in. 

Of course, he’d also not taken into account Ulfric arriving so quickly, but he could work with this.

“Come on, let’s find you somewhere to sleep – did you want your own space?” Madanach asked, stepping out of the hug and aware he was possibly babbling, but Ulfric was still smiling so clearly he was still coming across as endearing rather than irritating. “I can certainly find you a room of your own, but it’ll take a few hours to arrange and I’ll need to find Nepos, but you can definitely rest in mine in the meantime if you want to get the dust of the road off you.”

“Your room is fine,” Ulfric said, hands on Madanach’s shoulders, and still seeming inordinately pleased about something. “I admit a bath would be welcome. Mead, more so. Your company… I would like that very much.”

Madanach could feel himself blushing, but this… this was nice. Ulfric was being nice. Madanach couldn’t get his head round this at all, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“Come on then,” he said, reaching for one of Ulfric’s bags… and promptly feeling his muscles screaming at him as the bag barely moved.

“What the hell is in here, did you pack an entire forge in this thing?” Madanach demanded, letting it go and sending healing magic into his arm.

“Several books, a bow and arrows, spare boots and gauntlets, dagger, sword, four bottles of mead, a few other things I can’t remember right now, and the legendary Hammer of Stendarr that can only be lifted by the worthy,” Ulfric said, affectionate smile having morphed into a smirk. “Don’t worry. I can carry these to your room.”

“I do not believe you’ve really got the Hammer of Stendarr in there,” Madanach muttered and Ulfric’s amused expression barely changed as he picked the other bag up, slung it on his back with very little effort then pick the offending one up without a flinch.

Madanach really wished he didn’t find this as arousing as he did. But those bags weighed a ton, and Ulfric didn’t seem to be struggling at all, just following Madanach to his bedroom. 

“I need to get you some storage space, don’t I,” Madanach said out loud. “Well, Nepos can find a chest for you, and he’s already having some wardrobes added – should be here within a week or so. Er… how long are you staying for exactly?”

A pause as Ulfric followed him into his room, saying nothing as he let his packs fall to the floor and sat down at the table with more vehemence than was strictly warranted, clearly more tired than he’d previously let on.

“How long am I allowed?” Ulfric asked, sounding guarded and glancing warily up at Madanach as if fearing rejection. Which was such an unusual expression on a normally confident man that Madanach actually started to worry. 

He went over to his drinks cabinet, opened it and reached to the bottom shelf where he’d stored some mead, just in case Ulfric turned up. Taking a bottle, he sat it in front of the big Nord and settled down next to him.

“As long as you like,” Madanach said gently. “I suppose you’re going to need to go back to Hroldan at some point to make sure everything’s OK and no one’s killed anyone they weren’t supposed to. But if we’re going to be married, you’re going to be living here at least part of the time. I guess I’d like you to feel at home here.”

Ulfric looked up, surprised to hear that, and then he smiled, taking Madanach’s hand with the one that wasn’t opening the mead bottle, fingers entwining with Madanach’s.

“Thank you, Troth-Plighted,” Ulfric said, that voice practically caressing Madanach’s ears, and it took all his self-control not to cuddle up next to him and curl up in his arms. “It is Loredas today – if I go back on Morndas, and stay with my men until Fredas, then come back to see you while you’re not busy with court business, would that be acceptable?”

Madanach nodded, suddenly feeling very emotional and not sure why and hoping he didn’t actually cry in front of Ulfric because that would be seriously embarrassing. But he did shift closer and rest his head on Ulfric’s shoulder… and Ulfric let go his hand and put an arm round his shoulders, pulling him in for a cuddle and kissing the top of his head.

“Forgive me, I am not yet used to this,” Ulfric murmured to him. “This having someone near me who I can take into my arms and show affection to… I hadn’t realised I would enjoy it so much. Hadn’t realised I would miss it so much when you weren’t there.”

“I’m here now,” Madanach said, patting Ulfric’s arm and feeling a bit pleased at being the one to actually make Ulfric realise he had human emotional needs after all. “And you can come see me whenever you like. Physical contact is an important human need, like eating or drinking or relieving yourself, and you wouldn't shame someone for needing to piss, would you?”

Ulfric actually chuckled at that. 

“Actually, there’s a drinking game we have called Iron Bladder… Madanach, don’t look at me like that. I know full well Reachman evening entertainment includes sneaking up on someone, setting fire to their kilt and seeing how long it takes them to notice, with bets being placed on the outcome.”

“Yeah, it does, it’s hilari- er,” Madanach coughed, put the fond adolescent memories out of his mind (and less fond ones of being the victim – that had not happened twice, not in the same camp anyway) and smiled nervously. “We heal them afterwards?”

“I never said I disapproved,” Ulfric purred. “Just don’t do it to me.”

“We would never do that,” Madanach promised. “Anyone in your settlement who’d be a particularly good victim?”

Ulfric laughed, reaching for his mead. “Let me think about it. I see anyone misbehaving on the night, I’ll let you know.” He took a sip of his mead, and promptly put it down again. “Madanach, what did you do to this mead? It’s colder than the Sea of Ghosts.”

“Is that not good?” Madanach asked, never having had mead in his life and now a bit worried he’d ruined it. “Should I warm it up for you?”

“It’s… unexpected,” Ulfric said, eyeing it carefully. “We usually drink it at room temperature. Or heat it up, especially in winter. I have not had it this cold before but it’s not unpleasant. You use magic for this, don’t you?”

“Yeah, the cabinet’s got frost runes in it, I recast them every couple of days,” Madanach said, feeling acutely nervous about admitting this to Ulfric… but Ulfric was looking thoughtful.

“I don’t know about mead, but there’s some ales that might be nice chilled. Alto white too. I’ll get some sent over, we’ll have to experiment. There’s room in your cabinet, yes?” 

“There will be when I move the mead out,” Madanach promised. “You’re not bothered by magic near the booze?”

“Not if it improves the taste,” Ulfric said, grinning, and Madanach felt worries he hadn’t really had fade away. Ulfric wasn’t quite so anti-magic as he’d feared. 

And so he kept right on resting his head on Ulfric’s shoulder, with Ulfric’s arm round him as he drank his mead, neither saying a word, and Madanach closed his eyes, his normally busy and frantic mind finding peace for once. He felt Ulfric pull him closer, lips kissing the top of his head, a gentle gesture of affection that said more than words ever could. They sat like that for several minutes… at least until Madanach became aware that Ulfric was shifting uncomfortably.

“Are you all right?” Madanach said, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, shifting with an effort from lazing on his lover’s shoulder to having to think about doing things and making decisions again. 

“Yes I’m fi-” Ulfric shifted his shoulder, wincing, and it was clear that, much as he didn’t want to show it, he was in pain. 

“Are you sure? I can cast a healing spell,” Madanach said, and immediately regretted it as Ulfric flinched at the mere mention of it.

“No. Thank you,” Ulfric said firmly, eyes fixed firmly on the mead bottle. “But… you mentioned a way of using frost magic to cool drinks. I was thinking, would you be able to arrange something similar for me? An ice bath is just the thing for aching muscles, but the Reach is too warm for it. But if you’re a skilled frost mage, you might...”

Madanach glanced at the pool in the corner, a natural waterfall and rock pool that had been converted into an inhouse bathing area and which Madanach treasured beyond anything else about the Keep.

“Go on then, get your kit off and get in the pool,” Madanach said, and Ulfric almost squealed as he got up and stripped off, apparently not bothered by Madanach watching him.

By the gods, Ulfric was an attractive man. What with the shoulders and the arms and the solid wall of muscle that was his back, and then Ulfric had shed his lower half as well and Madanach couldn’t think for fantasies of wanting to bend the man over and sink his teeth into his backside.

He had to look away at that point, waiting until he heard water splashing and Ulfric was safely under water, calling for some frost magic please?

The please was an unexpected addition. Someone had clearly learnt some manners at some point as opposed to just demanding the world do whatever he told it.

So Madanach raised his hands and cast, and soon Ulfric was sighing happily despite being almost encased in ice. Nords were weird.

“I needed that,” Ulfric sighed. “Is my mead anywhere nearby? And… is there a possibility of heating it up?”

Madanach would have said no, but Ulfric had turned round and was smiling at him hopefully, and Madanach couldn’t quite say no to that face. One small fire rune later and the mead bottle was heating up nicely.

“Grip it by the top, the bottom is hot, and if you burn your hand, you’re getting a healing spell regardless,” Madanach told him. Ulfric grinned and surprisingly followed Madanach’s advice. Strange. He’d have expected Ulfric to insist he could handle the pain. Apparently the man knew his limits after all, who knew.

And so they sat in silence, Ulfric quietly drinking his mead and seeming to enjoy sitting there in a bath full of icy water, or not minding the cold any way, and Madanach sat next to the pool, edging nearer to him and eventually daring a kiss on Ulfric’s head.

Ulfric smiled and leaned in towards Madanach, seeming to rather enjoy having him there, smiling to himself as Madanach stroked his hair. Time passed and eventually the ice magic faded and Ulfric sat up, draining the last of his mead and hauling himself out, looking for a towel.

Madanach looked away while Ulfric dried himself off, apparently none the worse for wear for submersion in freezing water for the last ten minutes. Silence while this happened… and then Madanach felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Madanach. I was thinking of taking a nap, but it doesn’t have to be alone. Join me?”

Madanach couldn't help but shiver… but hadn’t he been thinking about this all afternoon? He could feel Ulfric’s breath on his neck, fingers sliding up to brush through his hair, and Madanach turned round to face him, closing his eyes and letting his lips find Ulfric’s.

Low moan from Ulfric as he pulled Madanach closer, fingers in his hair and a hand on the small of his back, and Madanach decided he could get to like this kissing Ulfric business.

“Bed?” Ulfric whispered, breaking off just a little, and Madanach nodded without really realising he was doing it. Ulfric grinned and picked him up, carrying him across the room and collapsing onto the bed with him.

“By the gods, I missed you,” Ulfric murmured, leaning down to nibble his neck… and his Talos amulet, which Madanach so far hadn’t really noticed, nearly hit him in the face.

“Yes, I missed you too – Ulfric,” Madanach growled, reaching up to grab the Amulet. “Ulfric, I’m willing to put up with a lot, but you are not wearing this in bed with me. I have my limits.”

Ulfric stopped what he was doing, looking up at Madanach as if he’d never really considered this would be a problem. Madanach stared back, suddenly aware that he was alone with Ulfric, Ulfric was bigger than him, had the Thu’um, he had no idea what spells to use if things went south, what if his guards didn’t get here in time, what if the kids saw them fighting, what if…

“Ugh, fine,” Ulfric sighed, ripping the amulet off and dropping it onto the table next to the bed. “It won’t bother you so much over here?”

“No, I- yeah, that’s fine,” Madanach said, surprised and relieved and did Ulfric just comply with a reasonable request? Without arguing or posturing (much)? “Er, thank you.”

Ulfric shrugged and returned to nuzzling his neck, but he didn’t seem as certain as he had before.

“Ulfric?” Madanach whispered, feeling fear trickle back in again, because what if there was a price to be paid. What if Ulfric had him make up for it in another way?

Ulfric pursed his lips, and them promptly rolled over, pulling Madanach on top of him.

“I have been thinking of you all week,” Ulfric informed him, arms round Madanach’s neck. “When I haven’t been craving your touch, I’ve worried about you. My relationship with Talos these days is… complicated and a topic I’m not sure I want to talk about to anyone at the moment. But my relationship with you? You’re here and you respond and there are things I can actually do to improve matters and when I do them I can immediately see if it’s worked. Like now, yes, keep smiling, I like that.”

Madanach was fairly certain he was blushing at this point but Ulfric either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. He’d closed his eyes and pulled Madanach to him, clutching him to his chest.

“I can talk to you and you talk back, and it doesn’t hurt either of us,” Ulfric murmured in his ear. “Do you know how few people in my life I can truly have tinvaak with – sorry, talk to? I would never risk that, my love. Believe me when I tell you pleasing you and seeing you happy is a strong incentive.”

He sounded like he meant it and Madanach couldn’t quite stop himself whimpering a bit, because Nords were supposed to be the enemy, and here was their commander, the ultimate Nord Killing Machine, wanting to take care of him.

He would never have seen this coming a few months ago but here and now, it was one of the most touching things he’d heard in his life. 

He didn’t trust himself to speak so he leaned in and kissed Ulfric instead.

“You do make me happy,” Madanach whispered. “Believe me, you do.”

“Ugh, it’s not enough,” Ulfric growled, sounding frustrated. “Show me how! You’ve bedded men. Lots of men! You must know what goes on. So tell me. Show me everything! Or get me some books. There must be books. Would your steward know where to find them?”

Madanach couldn’t help but laugh at that one.

“Would he ever,” Madanach chuckled. “I’ll make enquiries. But seriously Ulfric, there haven’t been that many. You seem to think I was ordering them to my bed by the dozen. I really wasn’t! I was the annoying nerd who talked too much about crazy obsessions and most of the camp thought I was at my best when not talking. Which… did actually get me a few partners, come to think of it. People didn’t start developing crushes until I became chief and started getting powerful, and I was married by then.”

“Their loss,” Ulfric growled. The son of a Jarl all his life, and the subject of attention since coming down from High Hrothgar, he’d never considered Madanach might not have been noble all his life… and might not have been desirable as a partner all his life. Ulfric couldn’t conceive of not finding the man attractive, even if it had taken time for him to come to terms with it. “But if you’ve not been with many men, you’ve at least done it. You must know what you like. So show me. Show me everything!”

“Everything?” Madanach purred, silently wondering if Ulfric exactly knew what he was letting himself for. Fortunately he wasn’t quite that cruel. Introducing Ulfric to the joy of bondage and flogging could wait for another day.

“ _Everything!_ ” Ulfric insisted and Madanach idly wondered if Ulfric had any concept of hard limits whatsoever. He must do, surely, but getting him to admit it would be something else. He’d have to keep an eye on him. But he was also fairly certain Ulfric was more physically robust than any prior lover he’d had.

“I can’t show you everything in one afternoon,” Madanach told him, stroking his cheek. “But we can get started.” He leaned in and kissed Ulfric again, feeling his cock twitch as he contemplated making Ulfric fall apart in his arms. It had been too long, far too long, since he’d been able to just enjoy himself without worrying about the aftermath. With Ulfric, he finally wasn’t worrying. It was an experience he intended to make the most of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they're finally together as a couple, both physically and emotionally. Marital negotiations still have to happen, Jarl Hoag hasn't turned up yet... but these two have finally admitted they're not going anywhere. Yay, right?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric and Madanach are getting closer... but Ulfric's struggling with working out if this arrangement really is what his god wants, and what it says about him that if pushed, he'd pick the Reach-King. If only there was a way to divine the Will of Talos...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I picked this one up and wrote something for it again! Because I kind of miss this universe, it is different from the usual one but it's entertaining.
> 
> Warnings for porn. And Ulfric and Madanach both having Issues.

Ulfric closed his eyes, lying back on Madanach’s sheets and trying to reassemble his thought processes. Madanach was elsewhere in the room, cleaning himself up and disposing of the cloths he’d wiped Ulfric clean with.

And Ulfric couldn’t even think properly, because all he could think of was Madanach’s hands on his skin, Madanach rolling him over and trailing kisses down his spine, Madanach’s hand gently squeezing his backside before he leaned in and extended the kisses ever further down… and while Ulfric yelped as Madanach’s tongue found his arse, he didn’t at any point stop him. In fact, when Madanach paused and asked if this was all right, Ulfric actually whined and almost begged him to continue.

Because he’d enjoyed it, and Madanach had seemed to as well, and then he’d stopped with his tongue and slipped a finger inside instead, and then he’d reached for lubricating oil and started fingering Ulfric in earnest.

And Ulfric had responded by clinging to Madanach’s pillows and grinding into the bed, virtually offering himself up for more. And Madanach had whispered in his ear that he could have more if he wanted. All he needed to do was ask and Madanach would happily fuck him. And Ulfric had asked. No… he’d not asked. He’d practically pleaded. And Madanach had cast some sort of barrier spell on himself, rolled Ulfric onto his back and obliged. Gently, but he’d slid into Ulfric with only a little physical discomfort on Ulfric’s part, and Ulfric had let him. Helped in fact.

Ulfric had completely consensually let the damned King of the Witchmen fuck him and he’d enjoyed it.

And he didn’t know how to react to this at all. Except by lashing out and punishing Madanach for fucking daring to give him what he wanted, the smug witchman bastard…

The thought of doing that hurt even more. So he said nothing, hunching in on himself and practising the breathing Hamal had taught him and imagining he was talking to her, because the damn woman somehow managed to always say the right thing. Even when he didn’t like it.

_Why is this bothering you, Ulfric? It’s something you wanted, can’t you just let it be that?_

_It’s humiliating. I shouldn’t enjoy being pinned down and used by one of the wretched witchmen._

_Do you think he was trying to humiliate you then?_

No. No, he didn’t. That was the worst thing about this. He couldn't even bring himself to hate Madanach for it. Because he remembered Madanach’s face, remembered wrapping his legs round Madanach’s waist and squeezing just a little and hearing Madanach _whimper_.

No, Madanach had wanted to give him pleasure, not hurt him. So who was judging him then? 

Ulfric’s eyes fell on the Talos Amulet on the bed, and the realisation hit. Talos had a plan and standards for brave Nord warriors, and he’d probably just failed all of them.

Talos was probably in Aetherius right now raging at him that he was supposed to be ransacking the city and slaughtering the witchman barbarians as recompense for fucking up during the war, not _sleeping with their king and letting him do whatever he liked to him._

Which triggered a wave of guilt, anger, revulsion and the urge to hit something… but everything here was made of solid stone and Ulfric didn’t really want to have to ask Madanach to fix his hand again. Restoration chimes still made him flinch.

And then a quiet small voice whispered in the back of his mind that he hadn’t actually failed his Empire or his god in the war, had he? He’d held out for ages. The city had fallen by the time he caved. He’d got away, rejoined the Legion, helped retake the city and survived only to be betrayed in turn by the damn Imperial politicians.

None of that had been Ulfric’s fault. He’d done his best, hadn’t he? And he’d managed to establish a safe place to worship Talos. If Talos still wasn’t happy… Ulfric didn’t know what would satisfy him. Because despite all their efforts, Talos wasn’t speaking to them or anyone else. None of his prayers ever got a response. He never appeared during any of the services. Once Ulfric would have accepted it as just the way things were, but he’d seen Reach-magic make the invisible visible. Maybe it had its limits, but Talos had been a man once, a child of this plane. Why did he never manifest in person? What was he waiting for? Weren’t they trying their hardest? Why did they always have to try and guess Talos’s will by studying his life and looking for vague portents? Why couldn't he just _talk to them?_

All Ulfric had to go on was the voices inside his head, and Hamal had taught him all too well that they weren’t infallible and could be reasoned with, which probably meant none of them were Talos.

Growling, Ulfric picked the amulet up and hurled it across the room, frustrated and angry at not even knowing if his god was angry at him or not, and also angry at knowing he’d not done anything to deserve it if Talos was, and being really angry at Talos for reacting to his dethronement by doing… nothing.

The amulet hit the wall of the keep, one of the axe-blades hitting it edge-on and carving a groove into the wall before it clattered to the floor, even Understone’s granite giving way to dragonbone.

Silence, and Ulfric became aware that he was breathing very heavily, had a tear rolling down his cheek, and that Madanach wasn’t moving around the bedroom any more.

He’d noticed, hadn’t he?

Slowly, Ulfric’s eyes slid round to where Madanach had been washing his hands in the pool, until the chime of stone on stone grabbed his attention. Ulfric could only cringe as Madanach dried his hands, got up, walked over to the amulet, inspected it, even prodded at it a little before gingerly picking it up by the leather thong, and then turned to look at Ulfric, clearly a bit concerned.

“That… wasn’t aimed at me, was it?” Madanach asked, and the nervousness in his voice only made Ulfric feel worse.

“No,” Ulfric said quietly. “I… am sorry. Perhaps it’s best if I le-”

“You only just got here!” Madanach cried, sounding genuinely upset at him going. “We just had sex! It was good sex! I liked it! I thought you did! I thought… did I do something wrong?”

Ulfric shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, because this was supposed to be him and Madanach being happy together, and here they were, arguing again. The worst part was it wasn’t even Madanach’s fault. Ulfric had felt happy here. Safe and loved. Up until he realised his patron god might just hate him for this.

Madanach hadn’t replied but footsteps drew nearer, and the bed creaked as Madanach settled down next to him, one hand on his back and forehead resting against Ulfric’s head even as Madanach released his grip on the amulet and let it fall into Ulfric's lap.

“What’s wrong, love?” Madanach whispered, sounding heartbroken. “Please talk to me, I don’t want you to go? Or be upset. And why throw your amulet of Talos across the room? I thought he was your personal deity?”

“He is everything a Nord warrior and a leader of men should aspire to be,” Ulfric said, hearing his voice come out as a dull monotone. “And he’d never condone me being with you.”

“Oh,” Madanach whispered, and the hurt and confusion in his voice tore at Ulfric’s heart, because Madanach shouldn’t just put up with that, he should be ranting about Nords in general and Talos in particular at this point. He shouldn’t be sounding so hurt and vulnerable.

Once again, Ulfric felt emotion building – upset, sadness, guilt, but more than anything, fury at having to choose between his god and his lover. Between a god who’d let him believe himself a traitor for two years and a lover who’d brought him unexpected happiness… and the revelation he was no traitor after all. 

Ulfric took a deep breath, quietly dared Talos to do something about it if he objected that badly, and put an arm round Madanach. 

“I didn’t say I was choosing him,” Ulfric said quietly. “My relationship with him is, as I said, complicated and something I need to think about… but I’m not choosing him over you.”

He pulled Madanach closer and took him into his arms, holding him to his chest and hoping he was doing the right thing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I am struggling a little, I admit… but I am not leaving.”

Confused whimper from Madanach, who had returned the hug, arms round Ulfric’s waist, but who didn’t seem as reassured as Ulfric had hoped.

“Promise?” Madanach whispered, sounding like his daughter had a few hours earlier. 

“I promise,” Ulfric said, kissing the top of Madanach’s head. “And I am sorry if I scared you. I didn’t intend… look, the anger was not aimed at you. I was angry at my god for not approving, or at least not telling me he _didn’t_ disapprove, or for that matter not telling me a bit sooner I hadn’t betrayed his Empire or… bah. I don’t suppose you’re interested.”

Madanach had seemed to settle on hearing all this, and he glanced up, looking rather thoughtful.

“On the contrary, I had no idea you’d been thinking about all this that deeply. I thought you were the sort of implacable fanatic who’d be ‘my god, right or wrong!’ I didn’t even think you’d ever get so angry at your god, you’d throw his amulet into my Keep.” Madanach did glance back at the groove in the wall. “Try not to make a habit of it. Mireen left enough scars in the walls of this room.”

Ulfric couldn't quite keep the guilt off his face and he whispered an apology into Madanach’s hair. Madanach responded by placing a hand on his thigh and a kiss on his chest and snuggled into him.

“You’re not her,” Madanach murmured. “You are literally nothing like her. You’re strong and brave and passionate, and I love seeing you happy.”

Ulfric could feel a lump in his throat as he enfolded Madanach in his arms and realised he didn’t need to worry. Madanach loved him, even if he couldn't say the words. And if it meant submitting to Madanach in bed, Ulfric found he didn’t even mind. Because he’d done it, and here was Madanach responding not by lording it over him but by snuggling up to him for comfort.

It didn’t have to be all about fighting for dominance, did it? It could be about doing things that made each other happy, couldn't it? And Ulfric really liked seeing Madanach happy.

“And I you,” Ulfric said gently, coming to a decision. “And if Talos has a problem with that, I will fight him over it, I swear.”

Madanach tightened his grip, clinging onto him in a very unkingly way.

“I would pay to see that fight,” Madanach murmured, sounding genuinely amused by the idea. “The entire Reach will be cheering you on, I promise.”

Ulfric could believe that, but what he couldn’t believe were the next words out of Madanach’s mouth.

“When’s his summoning day? We could find out his opinion and issue the challenge! Your priest’ll know the rite, won’t he?”

Ulfric was fairly certain he would not in fact know any such thing.

“You can’t just summon a god!” Ulfric sighed. “It doesn’t work like that!”

Surprise and bafflement from Madanach and Ulfric now had to wonder what on earth Reach worship involved.

“Doesn’t it?” Madanach asked, confused. “I mean, you really can’t commune with him? How in the Void do you know what he wants then? Don’t tell me it’s different for the Nine, Dibella’s got a Sybil right here in Markarth. I mean, her reveries don’t make a lot of sense half the time, but it’s a channel of communication, right? Hasn’t Talos got one?”

“Not that I know of, and if he does, they are either dead or in hiding for their lives by now,” Ulfric said quietly, trying not to think of Thalmor agents arresting innocent Talos worshippers. “We are on our own.”

Madanach fell quiet… but not for long.

“Then maybe he really doesn’t care or mind either way,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “He’d have sent a sign otherwise, right? So… maybe we just do what we want in the meantime. I mean, we worked out you never betrayed him, so really, you’re in the clear? I mean, you’ve got him the only legal worship enclave in Tamriel, he kind of owes you, right?”

There was a definite inarguable logic to this, and… it occurred to Ulfric he would never have had occasion to tell Galmar his wartime traumas without Madanach there to facilitate, never have realised the guilt was not his to bear. 

He was a happier person these days, able to look himself in the mirror while shaving and realise he liked the man who looked back. He looked like he had done before the war. He had his life back. His scars faded and gone, both mental and physical. He’d been healed, and he’d never have been if he’d not come here. If he’d not ended up talking with Madanach and negotiating instead of fighting. If any of the Nine were unhappy with this outcome, they weren’t worthy of worship.

_I am better and stronger because of this. Talos can’t disapprove of that, can he?_

Perhaps not, which led on to a thought so bizarre, Ulfric never would have voiced it if he’d not had his lover cuddled up next to him.

“Do you think… he might actually approve?” Ulfric ventured, the thought coming out of nowhere but refusing to go away now it was here. “Do you think he might have intended this all along?”

Madanach had raised his head to look up at Ulfric, blinking in disbelief.

“What. I mean… you think Talos might approve?? Of… me?”

“Yes?” Ulfric said, still unsure about this but it was the only thought that made sense. “Maybe he’s reconsidered his actions in life. Maybe being a god has given him a new perspective. Or being betrayed by his own Empire has made him think again about who his real enemies are – Madanach, stop laughing!”

Madanach had dissolved into giggles, falling back onto the bed, cackling away and clearly finding that hilarious.

“Talos the Great and Terrible approving of me! Ha! Oh gods, that’s funny, the Nord dragonborn god approving of an old Daedra-worshipping Reachman. Never in this world, Ulfric, never in this… wait, you’re serious, aren’t you.”

Madanach’s face fell as he saw the hope in Ulfric’s eyes and realised a large part of his lover’s mental health and happiness and wellbeing depended on Daddy in Aetherius approving of him.

_I should tell Hamal this, she’d have a field day._

Likely so, but Ulfric's father issues weren’t his problem, and a little voice in Madanach’s head that sounded very like Nepos whispered that perhaps Madanach had a few of his own, and perhaps the fact that Talos-worshippers killed his own father was playing into this a bit?

_I never did get weregild for that._

Weregild. Hmm…

“He owes me an apology,” Madanach growled, deciding that if Ulfric needed to believe this, so be it, but he was definitely setting a few conditions. “I don’t know if he approves or not, that’s for you and your priests to work out. But if he wants my goodwill, I want weregild for my father’s death. I want a fucking apology on his behalf for invading us in the first place, and a promise to rein in his worshippers in future. If he’s had second thoughts, I want him to have the decency to tell us. Publicly.”

Ulfric had gone very quiet, listening intently, and at length he nodded.

“So, if that were to happen, a public peacemaking and apology from Talos himself, you’d accept his blessing on our relationship then?”

“I...” Madanach stared at Ulfric, suspicious and wondering just what his lover was thinking, and just how he was going to manage this one. With difficulty, which was why he gave in and agreed. “Yes, fine, if that ever happens, I’ll accept his blessing on our union. Not that it’s ever going to.”

Ulfric just smiled, and kissed him on the cheek, and not another word was said on the topic, Ulfric apparently contented by this and quite happy to cuddle. At least until Madanach’s kids arrived, tired but happy and wanting dinner, and it looked like Amaleen had stolen Eola out of her cradle again.

“Amaleen, she’s not a toy, you can’t just pick her up and play with her like a doll!”

“I know she’s not a doll,” Amaleen said, pouting as she cuddled her baby sister. “I didn’t want her to feel left out so I brought her along to hear the story.”

“We told her Eola doesn’t understand talking yet,” Eithne sighed. “But she wouldn’t have it.”

“Just because she doesn’t understand doesn’t mean she won’t want to listen,” Amaleen insisted, cuddling Eola, who was beaming back at Amaleen and patting her nose. 

Eye-rolls from her older siblings, and Madanach reached down to take Eola off Amaleen.

“That’s very thoughtful, but be sure to tell people you’ve taken her next time, I think you panicked the servants,” Madanach said, and then he noticed that Ulfric, having finished pulling on a tunic and leggings, had come up behind him and starting making faces at Eola, and given the way she was giggling, it was evidently working.

“Did you want to hold Eola then?” Madanach sighed and Ulfric promptly took Eola off him, sitting at the table with the baby in his arms, whispering hello to her. Well, that was those two taken care of for a bit anyway. Madanach wondered if Ulfric needed a lecture on not playing favourites with the kids, but chances were excellent this would level off once Eola was old enough to talk back to him. Besides, it was rather sweet that he’d worried about her.

In the morning, Galmar would arrive wanting to know what he was doing with Ulfric, and have to stop in surprise to see Ulfric sitting out in the keep, clad only in a Reachman’s kilt and boots, playing with Eola and not greatly caring what he looked like. Madanach would emerge some time later to find all was well, and Galmar had won Kaie over in about ten minutes of meeting her and was now Uncle Galmar, a title his three older kids would end up adopting sooner rather than later. It boded well for the future. But Madanach had also glimpsed Ulfric and Galmar in quiet conversation about something, and he was reasonably sure it wasn’t about infant care. The Nords were up to something, and he wasn’t sure he was going to like the outcome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was some time later when Madanach finally found out what the Nords were planning. Nepos’s people had been bringing strange reports of some sort of Talos related holiday being celebrated, his birthday or the anniversary of some battle or other, Madanach wasn’t sure. But what they had done was have a massive party and carry one of their number, a woman in a priestess’s robes, on their shoulders to some sort of throne set up in a newly built cabin. There’d been a swearing in ceremony, singing, drinking, a few ceremonial wrestling matches which differed only from the more frequent fights in that nothing actually got broken in these. But little in the way of details, and while Hamal confirmed she’d not been the woman in question, she refused to say any more.

Ulfric refused to talk too, only telling him ‘you’ll see!’ with an infuriating grin on his face, which proceeded to ‘you’ll have to beat it out of me. I’ll never talk’, which had led to some highly interesting results but no information. Damn him and his ability to tolerate even Madanach’s most vicious sex toys. 

Until a procession of them finally arrived in Markarth, bringing garlands of flowers tied to their weapons, all gear shined up and patched for the occasion, and a woman in a raised litter carried by six big burly Stormcloaks, Ulfric and Galmar leading them and cheerfully insisting they wished only an audience with the Reach-King, not violence.

“By Sithis,” Madanach whispered, rubbing his forehead and telling the guards he’d speak to them from the Keep’s balcony if they waited on the steps. If there was any trouble, it meant the kids would be safe at least, because they were already pestering him with questions and were definitely going to try and eavesdrop. So he took them with him to the balcony, Inga joining them and holding Kaie so she could see over the parapet.

“Ulfric, what in the name of the old gods is this?” Madanach cried down to his lover. “I seem to recall being very clear the Talos worship wasn’t supposed to leave your settlement! And why have you got a woman in a throne – is that Tova the healer??”

Tova, for it was indeed her, held on while the litter-bearers lowered the chair, and Ulfric himself helped her dismount, taking her hand and leading her forward.

“Madanach! The Nine have spoken! They have declared a new Sybil and we bring her to present to you! All praise and honour to the Sybil of Talos!”

The Sybil of… fuck’s sake. Madanach folded his arms on the parapet and lowered his head, feeling a headache coming on, as the gathered Stormcloaks echoed Ulfric’s words.

“YOU SAID TALOS DIDN’T HAVE A SYBIL!!!” Madanach roared back at him. “TALOS DOESN’T TALK DIRECTLY TO HIS WORSHIPPERS, WAS WHAT YOU LED ME TO BELIEVE! Inga, you ever hear of a Sybil of Talos??”

“Nooo,” Inga said uncertainly. “But there might be one down in Cyrodiil, or once might have been? I don’t know, Madanach, I always said my prayers to Kyne!”

Madanach would take that as agreement.

“INGA SAYS SHE NEVER HEARD OF TALOS HAVING A SYBIL!” Madanach shouted, deciding this would do as a starting point.

“HE NEVER NEEDED ONE BEFORE!” Ulfric called back, raising his voice… and the air shivered as the Thu’um started to rise. “HE RELIED ON THE EMPERORS TO ENFORCE HIS WILL. BUT OUR CRAVEN AND FAITHLESS EMPIRE HAS FORSAKEN THE GOD THAT FOUNDED IT SO TALOS HAS CHOSEN A SYBIL TO SPEAK HIS HOLY WORD TO THE PEOPLE!”

Madanach tightened his grip on the parapet’s rail, about to ready to get down there and throttle Ulfric, because while Madanach could handle a lover with a pain kink, this was crossing the fucking line. There was playing up because you wanted a good hiding, and then there was… this. 

“PUTTING A ROBE ON ONE OF YOUR SOLDIERS AND PROMOTING HER DOES NOT MAKE HER A GODDAMN MOUTHPIECE OF THE GODS, ULFRIC!” Madanach shouted.

“You doubt the Sybil of Talos??” Galmar shouted, doing a creditable job of showing outrage, and some of the soldiers were copying him, all glaring up at him as if he’d pissed in their ale or something.

“YES I DOUBT THE SYBIL OF TALOS!” Madanach called back. “I’M GONNA NEED SOME DAMN EVIDENCE BEFORE I PRAISE AND HONOUR ANYTHING TO DO WITH THAT MAN. CAN SHE SPEAK FOR HERSELF AT LEAST??”

Ulfric indicated for Tova to speak, and she stepped forward, looking a little uncertain but not actually flinching. Nords were brave, he’d give them that.

“All praise and honour to the lawful King of the Reach,” Tova announced, her voice echoing out. “We come in peace to bring the words of Talos. He has a message for you, if you will hear it.”

Madanach turned to Inga, desperate to get a perspective from a Nord who hadn’t gone completely fucking mad.

“Inga, I swear I am this close to locking myself in my room until they’ve come to their senses and left. Any ideas, because I am out of them.”

“I suppose it can’t hurt to at least listen,” Inga said dubiously. “Tell them you need to think about it if you don’t like it? There’s Talos-worshippers in the city too, Madanach, or at least people who still think he’s a god even if they’re not very devout. You can’t just publicly disrespect him if you want the peace to last.”

Not to mention that while they were here in peace, they were in his city with their weapons, and Madanach couldn’t risk violence. Not now, not after all this. Not after healing Ulfric's scars, helping him finally get over his wartime traumas and see him happy. What the hell the man was playing at, Madanach didn’t know… but while he was pushing his luck, Madanach didn’t think he was trying to undermine the peace. The opposite in fact.

“FINE!” Madanach called down. “LET’S HEAR IT. IT HAD BETTER BE GOOD. AND MAKE IT SHORT. DON’T TELL ME THE EMPIRE’S WAR GOD WAS ONE TO WASTE WORDS.”

“Those who understand each other need not waste words,” Tova announced. “Great Talos sends his greetings… and offers his gratitude for allowing his followers sanctuary.”

“That’s nice of him,” Madanach sighed. “He couldn’t have just sent us a card?”

“Madanach!” Inga hissed, but Tova didn’t seem to mind.

“Great Talos forgives your flippancy,” Tova intoned. “He knows you have reason to distrust. He wishes you to understand-”

Tova cried out suddenly, going rigid as light suddenly started pouring out of her, eyes glowing a brilliant gold as she started to radiate light so bright the entire city had to hide its eyes… and the gathered Stormcloaks sank to their knees. From the look on Ulfric’s face, this was not part of the script.

“GREETINGS TO YOU, MADANACH AP CARADACH, CALLED BY SOME SAOIRSEACH, LIBERATOR IN THE COMMON TONGUE, YOU WHO HAVE BEEN NAMED HIGH LORD OF THE REACH.”

An old title, Red Eagle’s title, and one not often used by Madanach. 

“Tova?” Madanach said, although he knew this was in no way Tova, not any more. “Er… who am I talking to?”

“YOU SPEAK TO THE OUTCAST DIVINE, THE NINTH OF THE EMPIRE’S GODS, HE WHO WON THE CAMPAIGN BUT LOST THE TREATY NEGOTIATIONS. MY TEMPLES HAVE BEEN RAZED, MY FOLLOWERS SLAUGHTERED, MY PEOPLE RENDERED HOMELESS AND FORCED TO FLEE. BUT YOU HAVE GIVEN THEM SANCTUARY. I WOULD KNOW WHY.”

Holy fucking hell. This was spirit possession, by a spirit believing itself Talos. Had to be it. Talos definitely wasn’t real, or not a god anyway. Definitely not. And yet…

Madanach shook his head, pulling himself together. Real Talos or not, the spirit was a powerful one. He’d better humour it.

“They were invading my land, killing my people, and we were suffering,” Madanach called back. “I have children, Talos. I wanted to see them grow up. Then it turned out their commander had an alternative agenda that didn’t involve violence. I took him up on it. He’s a loudmouthed pain in the backside who is in a world of trouble but he’s an attractive one.”

Tova actually smiled and laughed.

“DO NOT TRY TO HIDE YOUR FEELINGS, REACH-KING. I KNOW YOU CARE FOR HIM. PERHAPS YOU DON’T CARE FOR ME, PERHAPS YOU HAD A COUNTRY TO PROTECT… BUT YOUR HEART SAYS OTHERWISE. YOU CARE FOR ULFRIC STORMCLOAK.”

“I… yeah,” Madanach admitted. “A bit. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s my pain in the ass, you know?”

That got a laugh from the citizens of Markarth anyway… and quite a few of the Stormcloaks. Even Galmar could be seen patting Ulfric on the back.

“INDEED,” Tova intoned. “BUT YOUR GIFT TO HIM WILL BENEFIT MORE THAN HIM. IN LIFE, I INVADED YOUR LAND, KILLED YOUR PEOPLE, THREW DOWN YOUR PREDECESSORS AND GLORIED IN THE DEED. AND YOU HAVE RESPONDED BY GRANTING ME SANCTUARY WHEN MY OWN EMPIRE WOULD NOT. I AM SHAMED BY YOUR GENEROSITY.”

Tova dropped to her knees, lowering her head. 

“I AM HERE TO OFFER MY APOLOGIES FOR MY ACTIONS IN LIFE, MADANACH. AND FOR THOSE OF MY FOLLOWERS THEREAFTER. IN PARTICULAR, CARADACH AP CORDELL DID NOT DESERVE THE FATE LIFE DEALT HIM, AND NOR DID KEIRINE WHO IS NOW MATRIARCH. SHE WAS AN INNOCENT THEN.”

Madanach said nothing, his throat closing up as tears prickled at his eyes, because how dare this spirit bring up his kin, how fucking dare it?? 

How dare it even fucking mention Madanach’s beloved father. Madanach knew all too well they’d not deserved it, and the memory was ripping his heart open again.

“You bastard,” Madanach whispered, wiping a tear away… and then Ulfric spoke up.

“We will raise up a shrine in his memory. St. Caradach the Scholar, teacher and healer. I swear it, Talos.”

“GOOD. SEE IT DONE. AS FOR THE DEBT I OWE YOUR KINGDOM… IT WILL NOT BE REPAID IN ONE DEED OR IN SEVERAL. IT WILL TAKE DECADES, CENTURIES EVEN, TO REPAY. BUT KEEP FAITH IN ME AND I WILL KEEP FAITH WITH YOU. MY BLESSING ON YOU AND YOUR KINGDOM, MADANACH. MAY THE REACHMEN THRIVE AND BE FREE, SO LONG AS THEY PROTECT MY WORSHIPPERS. THIS I SWEAR, HIGH LORD.”

The light went out and Tova collapsed to the ground, lying in a heap on the floor, and two of the Stormcloaks ran to her side, one of them that Shatter-Shield man. The visitation was clearly over… but Madanach barely noticed. He was too busy holding back tears, not entirely successfully.

“Madanach,” Inga was saying, reaching out for him as she put Kaie down, and Argis and Eithne were likewise wanting his attention, but he couldn't give it. Not right now, not when his own heart was torn and bleeding. Wanting his own father’s arms around him, Madanach turned and fled into his keep, fully intending to lock himself in his room. Leaving Inga in charge of four confused children and a city that didn’t know how to react.

“MADANACH!” Ulfric cried, racing for the door… and the guards stopped, blocking his way. 

“What the… let me in, dammit!” Ulfric cried, and the guards, still with orders to not let the Nords in, lifted weapons to block… and Inga realised with Madanach gone, she was Marquise of this city and right now it needed her.

“STOP!” Inga cried. “Let the Stormcloak in. Just him, mind! The rest of you can wait out here. Tend to your Sybil! Take her home. When the King’s had a chance to think on this, he’ll give an answer.”

“Good enough!” Galmar called back and started sending the rest of them home, and Inga felt the weight on her shoulders ease. No rioting today at least. Below, the guards stepped aside, opened the doors and let Ulfric, who could be heard calling Madanach’s name as he ran into the Keep.

“Ma?” Argis whispered, arms round Amaleen and Kaie who were both cuddling him. “What’s going on? Why’s Da gone?”

“Shall we find him and ask him,” Inga said softly. “Unless he’s arguing with Ulfric, of course.”

“That’s his hobby, isn’t it?” Eithne asked, trying to sound brave but behind the brave face, she was clearly just as worried as her sisters.

So was Inga, but she didn’t have the luxury of giving in to her own feelings. Shepherding the children downstairs, she went in search of the royal couple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“MADANACH!” Ulfric bellowed down the hallway. “MADANACH!”

His voice echoed off the stonework, not needing the Thu’um to sound impressive this time. Servants and guards moved out of his way, many having witnessed the spectacle outside, or at least heard of it by this point, and all were keen to see the next part of the story.

Madanach was by his throne, having run into Nepos, who was comforting him.

“There, there, charama,” Nepos was whispering as he patted Madanach’s back. “It’s all right. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“The bastards used my da’s memory, Nepos,” Madanach was gasping into his steward’s shoulder. “My da!”

“I know, Madanach, I heard too,” Nepos said softly. “It’s all right.”

“MADANACH!” Ulfric cried, rushing up the steps to him… and halting, seeing Madanach’s head whip round, tears on his cheeks and fury in his eyes.

“YOU!” Madanach roared. “YOU SON OF A BITCH, ULFRIC. I TRUSTED YOU AND YOU DO THIS??”

“Madanach, I swear I didn’t know that was going to happen!” Ulfric protested. “I promise you I didn’t-”

Madanach had launched himself at Ulfric, and it took all Nepos’s swiftness to hold him back. 

“Madanach, no, don’t-”

Ulfric had raised an arm to keep him off, actually flinching away, and even if Madanach was able to control himself enough to not attack him, it didn’t bode well. Until Inga arrived, kids running after her, Kaie in her arms.

“Madanach!” Inga cried. “Madanach no, don’t hurt him!”

Madanach did stop, turning to Inga and growling.

“Not you too,” Madanach snapped at her. “Seriously, what is it with you people? Can’t you just leave well alone-” And then his eyes travelled to Argis standing beside her with Eithne behind him and Amaleen cuddling her brother and crying quietly. But it was the fear in Argis’s eyes that stopped him.

Madanach closed his eyes and turned away, no longer threatening violence at least.

“What were you thinking,” Madanach said roughly. “How fucking dare you talk about my family in public like that?”

“I didn’t know!” Ulfric cried. “I didn’t know that would happen! Tova was meant to just offer peace and recompense from him, she wasn’t meant to channel him! I didn’t even-” _Know she could do that._ A tacit admission Tova hadn’t been meant to be an actual Sybil.

It didn’t help Madanach.

“I don’t care,” Madanach gasped, voice hoarse and choking. “I don’t… Nepos, tell me they were faking the whole thing.”

Nepos sighed heavily and went to put an arm around his king.

“Madanach, you know as well as I it was either spirit possession, or a combination of heavy blood magic and illusion magic. I don’t think there’s any summoners in the city who could have arranged that, and there’s only one person in Markarth who’s skilled enough at blood magic and illusions.”

All eyes on Madanach, and Madanach knew the truth of Nepos’s words too.

“I’m not forgiving him,” Madanach snapped viciously. “I’m just _not!_ ”

“Nor should you,” Nepos said, voice kind and gentle and understanding. “What was it he said? He owed you a debt he could never repay and was shamed by your generosity? He’s in the wrong and admitted it. You don’t need to forgive him. If it takes more than one act to repay the debt, you can wait until those acts have built up to even consider it. All you need to do is be patient and see what happens and don’t make any rash decisions, hmm?”

Madanach did not look convinced, or remotely happy about this, but something in his manner had changed, his stance getting less combative.

“I know this is hard for you, but make the effort, hmm? For your son’s sake if nothing else?”

Madanach glared at Nepos, and anyone else making that line of reasoning might have got ranted at… but Nepos had got and kept his job partly for his considerable skills, and partly because he was one of the few people who Madanach actually listened to. Madanach’s eyes travelled to four scared children, and Argis looked most worried of all, shifting close to his mother. His Nord mother, and it occurred to Madanach that maybe his Nord son might prefer it if his father wasn’t constantly ranting about how awful Nords were. 

Saying nothing to Ulfric, not yet, Madanach went over to where his children were huddled, all looking nervously at him, and the worry in their eyes did at least finally prod his conscience. Madanach knelt down, held out his hands, and Kaie and Amaleen at least ran to him for a cuddle. 

“I’m sorry, little ones,” he told them, cuddling both girls but his eyes didn’t leave the older two. 

“Are you alright, Da?” Eithne said, glancing nervously at Argis. The boy looked shaken and afraid, more so than the girls, and it was most unlike him. 

_My son should not be looking at me like that._ Madanach’s own father had been kind-hearted, compassionate, gentle and rarely raising his voice to his children. Madanach had never in his life feared him. He didn’t want his own son being scared of him.

“My da died when I was not much older than you two are now,” Madanach said quietly. “He was murdered. By Talos-worshipping Nords. I still grieve him. My emotions got the better of me after that display. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“But you’re letting the Nords stay and worship Talos, aren’t you?” Eithne whispered. “You’re marrying Ulfric, right?”

Madanach wasn’t anything like as sure about that, not because his own feelings had radically shifted, but because he wasn’t at all sure he’d not just broken their budding relationship for good. And then Argis managed to break his heart completely.

“Are you sending me away?” Argis whispered, looking terrified. “I’m a Nord! What if you don’t like me any more?”

Madanach had not seen that one coming. Perhaps he should have done, but Madanach still didn’t really see Argis as a Nord.

“What?? No! Of course not! I’m not sending you away, you’re my son! I only just got to tell you that!”

“What about Ma?” Argis whispered, glancing at his mother. Who didn’t look frightened, but who was glaring rather pointedly at him. Which meant if he didn’t want Inga aiming a bow at his backside, he’d need to be reasonable about this. 

“Your mother’s been a good friend to me and she’ll always have a place here,” Madanach told his son, trying to keep his voice level. “I’m not… I’m not throwing the Nords out, any of them. They can stay. I just can’t really forgive or be happy with Talos, that’s all… but that’s not really anyone else’s problem but mine. It certainly isn’t yours. What I do know is that my da would have loved all four of you, and little Eola too. He wouldn’t be pleased with me if I was cruel to you or neglected you, and he definitely wouldn’t want me doing it because of him.”

Argis still looked a bit dubious, and it was actually Amaleen who spoke up.

“Wait, you’re letting the Nords stay because you don’t want to be in trouble with your daddy?” she asked, confused.

“Er… yeah. In a manner of speaking,” Madanach admitted. Amaleen still didn’t look like she believed this.

“But you’re a grown-up,” Amaleen said, confused. 

“And? I still had a da once!” Madanach told her, trying not to smile at her confusion. “You don’t stop loving or wanting to please your parents just because you grew up and they died. Mine would want me to treat my kids right… and I’d like my kids to love me and not be scared of me, like I loved your granda. I’d never throw you out. You’re my son, Argis. And I love you very much.”

Argis didn’t entirely look like he believed this, but he did step closer… and then closer again, and as Madanach let Amaleen go and held out a hand to him, Argis ran to him and clung on to him.

“You mean it?” Argis whispered. “You don’t hate Nords? You’re not throwing us out?”

Gods damn it. This meant he was stuck with them, wasn’t it. Stuck with the Nords or he’d lose his precious son. He already knew Argis had had issues trusting him. Admitting Argis was his son had come about after Inga had joined the siege fighting and Madanach had been trying to reassure an upset Argis, promising he’d take care of him if his mother died. It hadn’t helped. Argis had only got more upset, and then he’d burst into tears and told Madanach he didn’t have to pretend, he knew he was a hostage. Madanach hadn’t been prepared for the shock and guilt that had hit him with those words, and he’d not been able to stop himself.

“You’re not a hostage, you’re my…!” He’d stopped, noticed half the court and his girls staring at him, and realised he’d just crossed a major line… but he couldn’t go back now.

“You’re my son,” he’d admitted. “I went out with your mother for a bit years ago. I didn’t know she’d got pregnant. I could never say anything before because of Mireen, but she’s dead now. I had you and your mother brought here because I was scared something might happen. And because you deserve better than the Warrens. And...”

“You’re my da?” Argis had whispered, eyes widening even as he’d stumbled on the words. Madanach had just nodded, not sure what else to say, and then Argis had launched himself into his arms and cuddled him.

There’d been consequences. Confessions. Inga being furious with him. Eithne practically exploding with frustration over not being told earlier and then ruefully admitting that was why he didn’t want her to marry Argis, wasn’t it (Argis just looked relieved at the prospect). Amaleen gasping with delight on hearing she had a brother and becoming Argis’s most adoring fan from that moment on (Argis seemed rather touched by this and had responded by gently taking care of her). Kaie had just taken everything in her stride, of course. But Argis from that moment forward had been officially and publicly his acknowledged son, and Madanach had thought his son had realised his father loved him.

Apparently not so, and Madanach realised that Argis had thought of himself as a Nord for a lot longer than he’d thought of himself as Argis ap Madanach, and if he wanted his son to feel safe… that meant putting up with the Stormcloaks.

_Fine, Talos, fine. You’d better come good with this._

“I’m not throwing anyone out,” Madanach promised, kissing Argis and getting to his feet, turning his eyes on Ulfric, who was surprisingly still here. He’d been watching all this from the side, looking the nearest Ulfric Stormcloak ever did to worried. Madanach saw hesitancy and a distinct absence of standing firm and scowling, and realised the big Nord was actually nervous. 

It was worryingly cute.

“Not even you,” Madanach sighed. “Although if you pull a stunt like that again, so help me Sithis, I swear…”

Ulfric's shoulders had unhunched just slightly, and his lips flickered just a little.

“I at least am forgiven?” he asked, stepping forward to face Madanach.

Madanach didn’t feel terribly forgiving… but it was one act at a time, he reminded himself. It didn’t have to be instant.

Which was good because he was slowly starting to realise that he’d miss Ulfric. He already noticed how quiet it was when he wasn’t there, and feel that there was something missing. If Ulfric was gone for good, Madanach realised this would bother him. It would feel wrong. He’d feel _sad_ about it.

Gods damn it.

“You’re in a great deal of trouble,” Madanach muttered. “Just… just be grateful you’re cute. Now come here.”

Ulfric's face lit up, relief writ large, brilliant smile beaming out of him, and next thing Madanach knew, he’d been literally swept off his feet as Ulfric had picked him up and cuddled him. 

“Yes!” Ulfric laughed, putting him down but still holding him close, grinning as he held on to him. “I feared you lost to me, my love.”

Don’t call me that, it’s weird!

Please call me that again, I liked it…

Madanach said nothing, because on the one hand, he knew he couldn’t say it back, not yet. But hearing it brought tears to his eyes. 

“Not this time,” Madanach said, cuddling him back. “But next time you want to do something like that, talk to me first, right? Or Nepos. I don’t want to get caught unawares again.”

“I swear it,” Ulfric promised, cheek resting against the top of Madanach’s head. “And… I am sorry about your father. He sounds like a good man.”

“He was,” Madanach whispered, and despite a small grief-stricken voice in the back of his head ranting that it was Ulfric’s people killed him, Madanach closed his eyes and snuggled closer. It wasn’t Ulfric’s fault. Ulfric was sorry. Even Talos was sorry, it turned out.

It didn’t bring his da back. But for the first time in years, Madanach finally felt that the grief was no longer festering.

They were still cuddling when Uailon arrived, announcing most of the Nords had left peacefully but there was a small group of five remaining on the steps of the Keep, namely Galmar and four of his men, all refusing to leave until they’d seen for themselves Ulfric was all right.

“You should probably let them in, Madanach,” Nepos observed. “That Stone-Fist chap strikes me as being as protective as he is obsessive and will remain out there until he’s had proof of life or dropped dead himself.”

Likely, and Madanach told Uailon to let the Nords in.

“ULFRIC!” Galmar cried, sprinting down the hall. “ULFRIC, WHERE ARE YOU! ARE YOU ALRIGHT, MAN!”

“I’m fine!” Ulfric called, still cuddling Madanach. “Madanach’s calmed down and said the peace is still on and he still loves me!”

Madanach went very still, because he’d not said that last one at all, nor did he want everyone knowing it even if it was true. He still couldn’t say it. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel it but he still couldn't say it and it bothered him and would likely keep bothering him.

Ulfric had put an arm round him, kissing his forehead.

“I know you can’t say it yet, but I know what’s in your heart,” he murmured. Madanach pouted… but Ulfric’s arms were warm and his chest was solid and reassuring and waking up with a big Nord warrior spooning round him felt comforting and made him feel safe and… 

Madanach didn’t know if it was love or not, didn’t even know if he was any good at this whole relationship thing anyway. But Ulfric seemed to like him still so he must be doing something right.

Madanach kissed Ulfric’s cheek and slipped out of his arms, pulling himself together.

“Don’t worry, Galmar, the wedding’s still on, your best man’s speech detailing every embarrassing thing Ulfric’s ever done won’t go to waste,” Madanach sighed. “And seeing as you’re all here and it seems your god seems to want to make it up to me and has given his blessing, I suppose it’s time we formalised your presence here, isn’t it?”

Ulfric’s eyebrows shot up and he’d gone pink.

“What – you want the wedding to happen now??”

“Wh- no!” Madanach cried. “Gods, no! Your father hasn’t even responded yet! No, no, I was thinking citizenship. And an oath of loyalty. Now, you said your men have already sworn an oath of loyalty to you, right? So if you swore one to me, your men’d follow, yes?”

Ulfric turned to Galmar, who glanced at the Stormcloaks with him, and then nodded on seeing no objections from them.

“Aye, Ulfric, we’re with you. Whatever you decide, we’ll follow.”

Ulfric smiled and turned to face Madanach.

“What are the terms?”

“You swear a formal oath of loyalty on behalf of yourself, your militia and anyone who joins your community from outside the Reach or is born into it or marries into it or otherwise swears loyalty to you. You defend the Reach from enemies, fight on my command, enforce Reach law among your people and pay taxes to the Mournful Throne. In return, you will all be citizens of the Reach, get to live here in peace and I will protect you from outsiders.”

Standard terms of fealty and they’d already been discussing practicalites, in particular taxes, which could be paid in things other than septims. In particular, Madanach had nearly had a fit on hearing Ulfric’s community was being built by timber bought off Jarl Dengeir of Falkreath, who Madanach hadn’t even thought to approach. Apparently while Ulfric and Dengeir didn’t always agree, they usually saw the world the same way, and Dengeir had been happy to help out a true Nord who’d found a loophole in the White-Gold Concordat.

Extra coin from the Mournful Throne, and timber was now being shipped out to various Forsworn camps to get some proper buildings built, and given that expertise in building was higher among the Stormcloaks than the Reachmen, Madanach had been paying for Nord carpenters to head out there too. It was working out.

Making it formal would only benefit all concerned.

“Also you get a title,” Madanach added. “Inga tells me a Jarl’s nobles are usually called Thanes, correct? Does Thane of Old Hroldan sound good? The Breton ones just don’t suit you.”

Ulfric's eyes widened, because this was the first time a title had been mentioned… and it was being given independently of their marriage. This was Madanach welcoming him in and giving him a formal place in the Reach. 

Tears in Ulfric’s eyes as he realised he had a home here, a home and standing that didn’t depend on his father, and that was something that brought him more pleasure than he’d expected.

“I would be honoured,” Ulfric managed to get out, and Madanach finally smiled, looking genuinely pleased for the first time that day. Which sent thrills to Ulfric’s nether regions even as he knelt before Madanach and took his hand for the oath of loyalty. 

Madanach looked a little emotional himself, accepting the oath and raising Ulfric up.

“By my right as Reach-King, I name you Thane of Old Hroldan, with all the duties and privileges attached. Arise, Thane Ulfric… and accept this as a token of your new status.”

It turned out to be a fine Nordic shield, with a dual enchantment that both increased the wielder’s blocking ability and resisted magic. A fine gift indeed, and one that went with his axe.

“We found it in the armoury and thought you might like it,” Madanach said quietly. “The Orc smiths think it’s a really good one, and Keirine did her best enchanting on it. Will it do?”

“It’s worth a fortune and one of the finest shields I’ve seen,” Ulfric gasped, knowing this was something worthy of the High King himself. “Thank you, my king.”

“It was no trouble, cariad,” Madanach said, voice gentle as he stepped forward, one hand touching Ulfric’s arm. “Shall we get the mead shared out? Nepos will be sorting out somewhere for Galmar and friends to crash out in. You’ll be with me tonight?”

Yes. By the gods, yes. Ulfric had sworn an oath, hadn’t he? To protect and serve the kingdom? And by extension, King Madanach’s person too.

“I am yours, I swear it,” Ulfric promised, and Madanach laughed.

“We just did that bit,” Madanach said, taking Ulfric’s free hand and leading him to the table that the Stormcloaks had already colonised, and Madanach’s kids had gathered round their Uncle Galmar, and Inga had joined them too, glaring suspiciously at them but accepting a drink. Apparently the Stormcloaks rarely travelled without a few supplies of ale of their own.

And Ulfric put an arm round his lover and his king, realising he had a home again. That he was happy. That he had finally found somewhere he belonged… and it turned out his god approved.

Ulfric Stormcloak was finally happy, and he’d fight the Daedra themselves to preserve it. He glanced at Madanach by his side, who was holding his hand and shaking his hair loose as he took his circlet off and let Argis play with it instead, about done with being king for one day and ready to just be a family man for a bit. A family Ulfric was going to be part of – maybe already was from the way Amaleen had hopped on to the bench next to him and started cuddling him. 

Ulfric cuddled her back, and squeezed Madanach’s hand, very aware of his pulse thudding as Madanach squeezed back, smiling almost shyly up at him and nestling a bit closer.

_He loves me. Maybe he can’t acknowledge it openly yet, but he cares. He gave me a title, a shield, a place here. He loves me… and I would do anything for you, my love. Swearing loyalty to you was no hardship, my king._

The fact that he’d stopped thinking of Istlod as his king and transferred that title entirely to Madanach barely troubled him at all. And so it was the foremost Son of Skyrim let the Reach adopt him. What Skyrim’s likely reaction would be was something for another day… but that day would one day come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be one some of you were after for some time. Hoag Stormcloak's turning up!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sybil of Talos episode may have triggered Madanach, but it turns out he's not the only one, with Ulfric's reaction being delayed but no less intense. That however isn't their biggest problem, as one of Madanach's agents provides a warning that has the whole Reach on alert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny bit short but it's a build-up to the bit many of you have been eagerly awaiting. You know last chapter referenced Skyrim reacting? That reaction's happening. :D
> 
> Warnings for past abuse references, misuse of BDSM, and attempted consensual BDSM in the present.

Days later, and Ulfric hadn’t seen fit to stir out of the Keep and go check on his new holdings yet. He’d sent men back to bring news, but he himself had stayed at the Keep, where he’d occupied himself by sunbathing out on the balcony, entertaining the kids, teaching Argis how to hit things, intercepting the kitchen staff so he could be the one to bring Madanach his lunch, barging into Madanach’s office at half past five precisely to haul him out so he could have dinner with Ulfric and five kids who somehow were mostly clean and mostly behaving.

And after dinner, they’d all spent time sitting and talking, the kids being allowed to lead the conversation and talk about what they’d done all day, and Madanach managing to find something to praise about each of his three love-starved kids and one boy who clearly needed convincing he was loved and really did belong here.

And to his surprise, Ulfric had noticed and was following suit. Even if his compliments were more along the lines of ‘well done Argis, you will be a fine warrior one day and your foes will fall before you’ and ‘Eithne, one day yours will be a name so feared nations will sue for peace rather than raise a blade to you’. Argis and Eithne seemed pleased with them. Madanach was less sure about it… but his kids all warming to their stepfather was nice to see.

After they’d all gone to bed, seen off with a Nord story involving rather more mead and beheadings than Madanach was entirely comfortable with but which Argis, Eithne and even little Kaie all seemed to be just fine with (and even Amaleen seemed happy by the end, where the wicked elven queen who made innocent little children into her slaves got Shouted down by the hero warrior and sent to Oblivion by his mage husband), Madanach closed the bedroom door and turned to talk to his lover.

Ulfric had his top off already.

“Someone’s eager, aren’t they?” Madanach remarked, amused. “Seriously Ulfric, I already told you I forgave you for the whole Sybil of Talos thing. Now that I’ve had time to get used to the idea, I’m thinking it’s about time. Nepos tells me the Reachmen seem to be adjusting, and I think they might even be planning a party. And I’m absolutely certain this just made diplomacy with the Nords much more likely to go our way.”

Ulfric closed his eyes and then to Madanach’s surprise, lowered himself to his knees, kneeling before Madanach with a fist to his chest.

“That’s not what I need to atone for, Madanach my king,” Ulfric said quietly. “I keep remembering what He said to you – that He’d ravaged your land and you’ve repaid Him by giving Him sanctuary, and He’s shamed as a result and intends to make it up to you. We know His will now, we know what He wants. How can I not follow His example?”

“Ulfric...” Madanach whispered, because while he’d discovered Ulfric rather enjoyed pain, being tied up and being on the receiving end of rough sex, this was something else. The pain play had been very much about Ulfric proving his strength. This seemed about Ulfric admitting weakness. 

He never thought he’d see the day, but he’d not expected it to be like this.

“Ulfric, you don’t have to do this,” Madanach told him gently. “We already talked about things, didn’t we? I know you’re sorry.”

“It’s not enough!” Ulfric cried, furious suddenly. “I came here thirsty for blood and the siege only whetted it! I would have Shouted those gates in and torn into your city and painted it red with Reachman blood, slaughtering all who stood against me, warriors or not, and… and if I had, innocents would have died, peace would have been lost, the Talos sanctuary gone when the Empire came. You would have been dead, your children dead or worse, all that blood on my hands and...”

Ulfric covered his face, the guilt too much it seemed. Madanach, who generally had enough on his hands what with things that had actually happened to bother with things that had never been, didn’t fully understand this… but it was clearly bothering Ulfric.

“Ulfric, it never happened,” Madanach told him, crouching down in front of him and stroking his hair. “We made peace. I’m happy, my kids are happy, my citizens are happy and my kingdom’s doing well. It’s OK. You can let this go.”

Ulfric shook his head, and Madanach realised he was actually crying.

“I can’t!” Ulfric cried. “I came here with murder on my mind, blood and warfare the only thing I cared about, and you… you healed me. Body and soul. I felt nothing in my heart but rage, hate or nothing at all… and you taught me how to feel again. You made me whole, you made me me again. Gave me my humanity back. And I… how can you just forgive me everything I was planning to do, everything I did do? Madanach, I was a monster.”

Madanach had not expected any of this and dealing with this was a little beyond him. He could patch together any number of battle wounds… but dealing with a fractured soul? Much harder.

Perhaps the Repentance of Talos had triggered Ulfric too. Which frankly he had coming in Madanach’s view… but this was his lover and Madanach didn’t have it in him to be too unkind.

“Ulfric, you weren’t,” Madanach said softly. “You’d been hurt too, hadn’t you? You were wounded on the inside. You needed help. And you got help. You don’t need to keep feeling guilty. I forgive you.”

Ulfric shook his head.

“No. I need more, Madanach. I need… Talos and I share the same crime. I feel his guilt like my own. In many ways, it is my own. I am here, not just because your company delights me, but because if you need me, I wish to be there for you. And if I can make it up to you, maybe my god’s debt is paid all the sooner too.”

Which bothered Madanach because Ulfric being loving and attentive was lovely, but not so lovely if Ulfric was doing it to please Talos rather than him.

“Ulfric, you seriously do not need to do this. He’s a god. Time doesn’t mean the same thing to him, surely? I’m OK with the debt being a long-term generational thing.”

Ulfric let out another sob, shaking his head.

“Damn it man, can you please just hit me?” Ulfric finally gasped. “I _need it!_ I… need it.”

Which was a very different tone from previously, because previously it had been role-playing, fooling around almost. A game they’d both got into. This… was no game, this was Ulfric seriously convinced he was an awful human being.

And while Madanach would be the first to admit Ulfric could be a self-centred prick at times, he was by no means all bad or without hope.

_You treat Argis and Eithne like they’re brave little warriors, don’t treat Amaleen like she’s less for not wanting that life, and you’ve even won Kaie over. Also you’re reasonably respectful to Nepos, are so far not shouting at my servants, and the Stormcloak bar tab at the Hag’s Rest is not as bad as I’d feared. You’re not a monster._

Convincing Ulfric of that was going to take some time, however. And in the meantime, he had a deeply unhappy man on his hands begging for a good hiding. 

_Do it. You know you want to._

Yes no sort of maybe? Madanach didn’t know. And so he said nothing, walking to the sex toy cupboard, unsealing the rune lock and staring at the contents.

And promptly remembered Mireen sending him over here to fetch the nastier ones so she could use them on him, because damn the woman, she’d always managed to find a way to turn his own desires against him. Even when he was on top, he always hated himself afterwards because she’d sit back acting like she’d won anyway.

_You’re as bad as me, and you like it, don’t you?_ she’d whisper.

Suddenly overcome with a wave of nausea and rage, he slammed the door shut.

_I am NOTHING like that bitch._

Ulfric had started up, turning to look, surprise and concern on his face, and Madanach lost his temper.

Striding over to Ulfric, he grabbed him by the hair and turned his face up to him.

“You think you’re getting off that easy??” Madanach shouted. “You think that everything, all that guilt, all that sorrow, can just be wiped away with one beating? You think if I hit you, it’ll magically make it all better? Well, I got news for you. It fucking _won’t._ ”

Ulfric actually flinched, and Madanach let him go, shaking all over, because he hardly ever lost control like that, not since Mireen had died, and he didn’t like that it was happening again. He didn’t want to hurt Ulfric! Not really hurt him. Only a little bit, when Ulfric was clearly enjoying it.

Sitting down at the table, Madanach reached for the jenever decanter, poured himself a shot and sat there nursing it, knowing that the good stuff deserved better than him downing it in one, and because he could see one shot turning into several in quick succession and that was not a road he wanted to start down.

He was barely aware of Ulfric getting up and taking a seat on the bench next to him, an arm around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Madanach heard Ulfric whisper. “Please tell me how to help. I want to, but I don’t know how.”

Madanach didn’t really know either, but Ulfric was here and felt warm and safe and strong and he’d literally never heard Mireen say anything like that. 

Placing the shot glass back on the table, he leaned in and put his arms round Ulfric, feeling tears come to his eyes. And Ulfric, who wasn’t a stupid man by any means, took Madanach into his arms and realised the sex toy cupboard probably hadn’t been installed for his benefit.

“Mireen used to use them on you, didn’t she?” Ulfric whispered, anger threading his words as he cradled Madanach in his arms. “Not consensually either.”

“Mostly it was,” Madanach said quietly. “But not always. And she ignored my safe word. Or she’d shame me for needing to. Or get a kick out of forcing me to it and then carrying on anyway. Or she’d let me be the one on top, and then act like I was as bad as she was and it was mutual. But it never was. I believed it at the time, but now she’s gone and I’m looking around and realising I’m not… not like that. Because here you are begging for it and I don’t want to… I don’t want to hurt you!”

A little gasp from Ulfric as he realised this wasn’t caused by him, but by Madanach’s own past coming back to haunt him, and then Madanach was being pulled closer, Ulfric rubbing his back and soothing him.

“You’re nothing like her,” Ulfric murmured. “You’re a good man with a heart and a sense of justice. If I did not trust you to do the right thing, I would never have asked. I did not know it would upset you.”

Wasn’t that becoming a theme. But… it did occur to Madanach that Ulfric might do a better job of avoiding his triggers if he told him what they were.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and Ulfric said nothing, just holding him in that warm embrace and stroking his hair.

“I was thinking of restarting sessions with Sister Hamal again,” Ulfric said casually. “I may visit her in the morning. Come with me? Most of what I want to talk to her about concerns you anyway. It might be helpful for us both to go.”

Madanach was beginning to heartily wish he’d never sent Ulfric for mindhealing in the first place. But he could see he wasn’t getting out of this, and honestly, he couldn’t say he didn’t need it.

“OK,” he whispered, and he risked a glance up, only to see Ulfric smiling.

“Thank you,” Ulfric murmured, kissing his forehead. “Also, I know you insisted on me having a safeword. Perhaps you need one too. Pick one, and should you want to call a halt to proceedings, use it. I won’t judge you. You think you’re turning into her, you can stop. I promise you, you’re not even close, but if it would make you feel better, I want you to have the option.”

Which was actually rather sweet and considerate, and Madanach had never dreamed he’d ever see Ulfric Stormcloak being either of those two things. But here he was, trying to help.

Madanach wrapped his arms round Ulfric’s waist and cuddled in to him, realising this might actually work out after all and more than that, he wanted it to. Lifting his head up, he nuzzled Ulfric’s neck and then risked a kiss there.

To his relief, Ulfric moaned softly, tracing a finger down Madanach’s cheek.

“You are feeling better,” Ulfric managed to get out, only sounding a little breathless.

“Thanks to you,” Madanach told him, running a hand over Ulfric’s seriously impressive shoulders. “What about you, are you…?”

Ulfric nodded, his guilt of earlier apparently under control.

“Yes. I’m calmer anyway. I know I still have much to make up for… but you’re right about it taking more than one night. If it takes a lifetime, so be it. Consider me yours, my love. Let my penance be devoting myself to making you happy.”

Still getting off too easy in Madanach’s opinion, but he wasn’t complaining. 

“I could live with that,” Madanach admitted, hand squeezing Ulfric’s. Ulfric grinned, took his hand, kissed it and then got up, holding both hands out to Madanach.

“Shall we go to bed, beloved?” Ulfric asked, still smiling. “I’m in the mood to give you pleasure.”

“When you put it like that, how can I refuse?” Madanach said, taking his hands and letting himself be pulled to his feet and led to bed. Maybe there were still issues to be ironed out. But as far as Madanach was concerned, having Ulfric around was turning out to be very much a good thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

And so to the Temple of Dibella, where Madanach ended up pouring his heart out to Sister Hamal while Ulfric held his hand, and found himself comforted to be told that the mere fact he was worried about hurting Ulfric meant he had his lover’s welfare at heart and wasn’t a bad man.

“Keep asking that question and you’ll be fine,” Hamal had told him. “But keeping paying attention to the answer too. And trust Ulfric if he tells you it’s fine. Ulfric, you’ll be honest with Madanach, won’t you? Don’t pretend it’s fine when it isn’t. It’s not a matter of admitting weakness, it’s making sure you’re not hurting your lover.”

It turned out Ulfric had no problem with calling a halt to proceedings when it was put like that, which actually cheered Madanach up a bit. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had been overreacting a little.

And so it was in a much better mood that the two of them made their way back to the Keep, Madanach’s guards keeping a respectful distance. At least until Ulfric followed Madanach down the stairs from the temple, turned a corner, felt something brush against him… and realised his coin purse was gone.

“What the – by Talos, you thieving little...” But the figure had already disappeared, and Ulfric realised a small scroll of paper was wedged in his belt in its place.

Madanach had turned, hand to his own axe, and then relaxed on seeing Ulfric unfurl the note. For some reason he was actually smiling.

“What does she have to say?” Madanach asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I was just robbed in your city and you don’t even care- stop smiling, man!”

“There’s only one person in the city who could pull that off,” Madanach remarked, amused. “Also the only one brave enough to try. Just be glad she didn’t go for your axe instead. Now. What’s in the note.”

Ulfric growled and unrolled it, wondering what sort of thief made off with your coin but left a note. He soon had his answer.

_Ulfric,_

_My apologies for introducing myself like this, but this is a delicate matter. You need to return to your holdings at once, and bring the Reach-King with you. You’re about to have guests. They arrived at the border last night and made camp on the plains but they’ll be crossing this morning. You need to be at Hroldan to meet them. And when you meet them, be sure and tell Madanach to dispel illusions as a security precaution. You’ll see why._

_Give my regards to King Madanach. Your coin purse will be back in the Royal Quarters, intact. The Mournful Throne’s retainer fees are more than enough for me._

_Y Merilis_

The letter was marked by an odd symbol that was part woman, part dagger. Ulfric distrusted it on sight and shoved the letter at Madanach.

“Explain,” Ulfric growled. “Did one of your people just rob me??”

“Yeah, she does that,” Madanach said fondly, taking the letter off him. “That’s the Nightingale for you. Gods forbid she do things the easy way. Now, what’s she got to say for herse- by Sithis, Nords crossing the border?? Now?? Right, you and you, get to the barracks immediately, I need every spare fighter mustered. Everyone else, back to the Keep. I need to raise Sungard and Lost Valley, and come to think of it, the Central Reach redoubts too, they can get word to your people at Yroldain. Ulfric, you need to muster every Stormcloak in this city. We’re riding as soon as I’m done with the calls.”

Ulfric hadn’t seen Madanach move that fast before, but he got to watch as the Reach’s military machine sprang into action. Back to the Keep in quick time, Nepos being swiftly briefed to put the city on a military footing just in case, word sent to the Marquise to get to the Keep with Argis, Uailon told to organise a military force from the Keep guards, and Ulfric did his part by dragging Galmar out of bed and shouting at him to round up the men immediately, they were marching within the hour.

“What? Why?” Galmar cried, shaking the hangover from last night off as he pulled his armour on. “Are we under attack?”

“I don’t know,” Ulfric said grimly. “Only that Skyrim’s finally reacting. Nords crossing the border at Lost Valley. They’re following our route in. We need to be there to meet them.”

Galmar grew sombre, staring at Ulfric, knowing in his heart what this might mean as well as Ulfric did. They might be shedding their kinsmen’s blood this day.

“Well. Victory or Sovngarde then,” Galmar said, finally shaking it off and doing his best to sound cheerful. “I’ll round up the men and meet you by the Keep door. You see to your man the Reach-King. Is he sending troops to match us?”

“He’s leading us,” Ulfric said shortly. “And you will not even consider dragging me out of danger if his life is at stake, understand me? I am _not_ leaving him.”

Surprise from Galmar at Madanach going too, but he didn’t argue.

“Aye,” Galmar sighed. “Talos forbid I get between you two. Now go. No doubt the witchmen have got some magic or other to turn the tide of war to us.”

They did indeed, and on entering Madanach’s study, Ulfric was surprised to see Madanach staring intently at a glowing orb which Ulfric recognised as an Imperial Legion issue communication sphere.

“Those are locked so only Imperial battlemages can use them,” Ulfric observed. Madanach just grinned.

“Breaking their network is difficult and time-consuming and likely dangerous,” Madanach said, grinning a little. “But erasing it and setting our own up was easy enough. I’m talking to the commander at Fort Sungard – they’ve got one there too. Right, Morvain, you were saying. Small force, you reckon.”

“No more than fifty men,” the response came, in the flat monotone of what Ulfric would later realise was one of the dread Briarhearts. “Shall we slaughter them all, my king? Our blades wait on your words.”

Madanach looked like he was considering it, and it would make sense for the bolstered border forces to fall on them… but it would be considered war, and fifty men was not a force you sent for an invasion, in fact it was the sort of numbers you’d find in a party of a Jarl and his honour guard. Oh by Talos.

“Ask him what banner they ride under,” Ulfric said, his throat suddenly going rather dry. “What colour? What blazon? That’s the picture on it,” he added, seeing Madanach looking a little confused by the heraldic phrase.

Madanach repeated the question, and Morvain could be heard snapping at his soldiers. Soon enough a response came. Two banners. One white and gold, with what might be a horse’s head on it.

“Jarl Balgruuf’s colours,” Ulfric said grimly. “Well, he is our neighbour. Only a matter of time before he came calling. Strange that he’d come without the Empire or the High King at his back though. What’s the other banner? The High King’s is red with a black wolf’s head, and the Legion has the black Diamond Dragon on red.”

Madanach asked and the answer shook Ulfric to the core.

“Blue and white with a bear’s head. Same design as the Stormcloak’s. Last we saw that badge, they were coming in war. Many of our kin fell to their blades. One word from you, Reach-King, and we shall paint the Karth red with their blood.”

“NO!” Ulfric cried, gripping the table as he realised what this meant. His father was finally answering his letter. In person. “Please no, it’s my father.”

Madanach inhaled sharply and turned back to the orb, and gave the order that nearly had Ulfric collapse from relief.

“Stay your blades. Ulfric Stormcloak has pledged fealty to me. His kin are welcome here, for now. Let them enter the Reach… but follow behind. They can come in but they’re not leaving until I’ve met with them. You can have some of your people meet with them in peace and tell them Ulfric and I will meet with them at Yroldain. Their kin can entertain them in the meantime. Madanach out.”

“To hear is to obey, Reach-King,” the Briarheart growled, only sounding a little disappointed to not be killing anyone today. “Sungard out.”

Madanach deactivated the orb and sat back, staring blankly into space, clearly not sure how to react now meeting his father-in-law had turned from a distant prospect to happening that afternoon. Ulfric didn’t know either. He loved his father, of course he did. But he also always felt small by comparison, never quite knowing how to please his father or live up to his reputation. The Great Bear of Windhelm was well loved by his people… and Ulfric never quite felt like he was anything like as good at it. And now Jarl Hoag was here, in the Reach. Here to find out just what his son was thinking, and all Ulfric’s confidence was fading away when faced with the reality of his father passing judgement on him… and his completely unsuitable new boyfriend.

“Well, cariad, looks like we’re meeting the family,” Madanach said, forced cheeriness writ large. “Should we bring a gift? What does he like?”

“Don’t joke about this!” Ulfric cried. “He will not be swayed by mead and weaponry that came from a dead Jarl’s possessions! By the Nine, what was I thinking. He cannot possibly approve of us.”

Madanach had gone very still and when Ulfric risked a glance at him, he was shocked to see how worried and hurt Madanach looked all of a sudden.

“You… haven’t changed your mind? Have you?”

Dreaded and fearless Kings of the Reach should just not sound that plaintive and it tore at Ulfric’s heart.

“No,” he said firmly. “Never. When I’m in your arms, I finally feel whole for the first time. I will stand by your side even in the face of my father’s wrath. But it’s funny. All my life I have longed for my father’s approval. Yet now I face losing it for good, and all I can think is that I will mourn the loss… but never would I consider choosing otherwise now.” He reached out and took Madanach’s hand, clutching it in both of his, willing Madanach to sense how he felt. “I gave my word I’d follow you and I gave it truly, my king. What Talos has hallowed, let no man stand against.”

Madanach stared back at him, and actually shivered.

“By the gods, if we weren’t due to meet your da, I swear I’d drag you to bed right now,” Madanach gasped, cheeks actually flushed. Ulfric felt a shiver down his own spine, because this was a change, this was Madanach showing desire and vulnerability of his own, and it might just be enough to one day stop him flinching away in fear. Even last night, Madanach had been more open than before, lying beneath Ulfric while Ulfric frotted against him, gasping and clinging on to him, pleading for Ulfric to do it harder. Ulfric had found himself enjoying being the one in control for once very much. The thought of doing it again enticed him greatly, and while he didn’t want to cause Madanach pain, the thought of making him beg for pleasure was another prospect entirely.

Ulfric was never giving this up. Not even for his father’s sake. Lifting Madanach’s hand, he kissed the knuckles and got up. 

“Shall we get ready? Let’s not keep my father waiting.”

Madanach followed, and they were met outside by Nepos wanting to know what they’d found out. On hearing the invading force was no invasion but Ulfric’s father finally visiting, he promptly dragged Madanach back to his room, exclaiming he could hardly meet with Nord Jarls dressed in his Forsworn battle gear.

“Honestly, Madanach, you’re representing the Reach, wear something nice for once. We can’t have you looking like some witch of the wilds out there. You’re marrying into their nobility, wear something that says powerful mage lord at least.”

Ulfric grinned at Madanach’s whining as Nepos forcibly shoved a set of red mage robes at him with silver trim and the Red Eagle design picked out on the front in silver thread, and made him get changed into them.

“They’ve got the strongest mage enchantments Keirine could manage on them and they’re based on the design used by the mage lords of House Telvanni of Morrowind,” Nepos explained for Ulfric’s benefit. “He has a matching set of wrist-guards and boots, look. The whole outfit is worth a fortune and he _hardly ever wears them!_ ”

“Excuse you, I have a baby, barely a day goes by when I don’t end up with _something_ on me and if it’s only saliva from when she’s been chewing on my outfit, I count myself fortunate,” Madanach growled, tersely pulling on the robes and adjusting the fit, Nepos coming round to assist. 

“Don’t blame your child for this, you’ve barely worn them in the two years you’ve been king,” Nepos scolded, reaching for a hairbrush and undoing Madanach’s braids, giving him a thorough brushing and then producing some metal implement which he heated with fire magic and used to straighten Madanach’s hair out. The pouting on Madanach’s face did not fade in the slightest but he didn’t object, and as Nepos replaced Madanach’s circlet, Ulfric stared at the finished result and realised that while Madanach the terrifying warlord was definitely definitely arousing, there was also something to be said for Madanach the mage lord scrubbed up and dressed in fancy robes.

“Now, how about one finishing touch,” Nepos said, looking Madanach over. “I think your torc would set this off nicely, don’t you?”

Surprise on Madanach’s face, and the petulance faded away, Madanach instinctively straightening up as he contemplated the official symbol of the kingship of the Reach.

“You’re actually going to let me wear it in public?” Madanach asked, excitement and surprise in his voice and Nepos nodded.

“Of course, you’re representing the Reach and negotiating with foreign dignitaries, they need to take you seriously,” Nepos said, indicating Madanach’s safe. “Now, if you want to do the lock?”

Madanach raised a hand, magic called into his palm, and the safe sprang open. Nepos went over and took the torc out, red gold gleaming in the firelight, and eagle’s heads on the ends, studded rubies for eyes and no doubt enchanted as well.

Nepos lifted it almost reverently, holding it by the ends as he raised it towards Madanach, who closed his eyes and lowered his head. Nepos lifted the torc high and lowered it around Madanach’s neck, gently adjusting it into place then standing back, and waiting while King Madanach of the Reach raised his head and looked around to see how Ulfric was reacting.

“Well, Brenceilan, will I do?” Madanach asked, turning to face Ulfric, his entire posture different from normal, a man wearing his power rather more consciously than normal… and one very conscious of the responsibility that came with it.

Ulfric couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“Yes,” Ulfric murmured, stepping forward in a haze. “Yes, my king, you will more than do.” Hand to Madanach’s cheek, lips meeting his, and then Madanach himself had drawn in closer, passionately kissing Ulfric, arms round him and giving every impression of never wanting Ulfric to go either. 

A break for breath, foreheads touching, and Ulfric knew he couldn’t leave if he tried. He loved this man with all his heart, and no one was taking that away from him. Not even his own father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we switch POV, as the Nords finally visit the Reach. I don't know how many of you ever read With A Dragonborn Like This and remember the Hoag Stormcloak backstory I had for that... but it's being used again for this one.
> 
> Brenceilan - king's spouse to be. Pronounced bren-KAY-lan.
> 
> The Nightingale is of course a certain Dunmer thief in exile who decided no one would ever look for her in the renegade witch-kingdom.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News from the Reach has been scattered and sparse and not nearly enough for a worried father, even with his spymistress lover doing her best. But the letter from Ulfric brings no comfort whatsoever, and when Hoag finally comes to find his son, no one could have predicted the outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one you've all been waiting for. Jarl Hoag arrives, wanting to know what the hell his son's been up to. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

_Father,_

_It has been some time since my last dispatch, and I fear you may be concerned. Fear not. I live and am well, and no Stormcloak lives have been lost since the last briefing. The campaign has taken an interesting turn but one I have no regrets over._

_I met with the Reach-King in person. At first it was merely from afar, seeing him on the battlements of Markarth during the siege. But then he invited me to parley, and we talked, and my eyes have been opened. In particular, he has helped me realise that no land under Titus Mede can ever truly be free to worship Talos again, and that the promises of the Silver-Bloods are built on sand._

_So we talked and agreed terms and in this land of the Reachmen that never swore any oath to the Empire, free Talos worship is being allowed once more. We’re settling at Old Hroldan and as long as we don’t proselytise to the Reachmen and are prepared to lend our blades to the Reach’s defence if attacked, we are welcome here. It is a bargain I had few qualms over accepting._

_Of course, there is a cost. Madanach feared his people seeing him as weak if he just gave us liberty to remain… but all the Reach loves a love story. So he asked me to be his husband. I gave it some thought, and agreed. I am to wed the King of the Reach, and by the Nine, I have no regrets. I know he is not the partner you would have chosen for me… but he is the one I desire. He has the reputation of being a cunning and dangerous man with access to wild and profane magics… and that is entirely true. But there is more to him than that. He also leads his people wisely and well, and all the Reach respects him. He has children from his previous marriage, and he is a devoted father to them. Most of all, he has shown kindness and compassion to me when he did not have to. I was able to share things I’ve never shared with anyone… and he listened and did not judge me._

_I am to wed the King of the Reach, and I have never been happier. My only regret is that I know this will likely cause you grief and disappointment. For that, I can only offer my apologies and my sorrow… but I cannot change my path now, nor would I want to. We are doing Talos’s work out here, establishing somewhere we can worship Him freely, and if that involves making peace with the Reachmen rather than wiping them out, I can live with this outcome. I regret having to break a contract, but I have also heard Madanach’s side of things now, and the atrocity that led to him starting down that path in the first place, and it does not paint either Clan Silver-Blood or Jarl Hrolfdir in the best light._

_I am more than willing to discuss this further in person, but my mind is made up. Come to the Reach and see what we are building here. I desire your blessing on us, but I will steer this course without it if I have to. I realise you and Clan Shatter-Shield both have invested significant coin in us, and by Talos, I swear I will see every coin repaid if it takes a lifetime… but it will be earned in service to the Mournful Throne._

_Father, forgive me. Whatever happens, know that you will always be my beloved father, and I, your loving son._

_Ulfric_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“The contents of that letter are not gonna change, you know.”

Jarl Hoag Stormcloak knew. But he couldn't stop reading and re-reading it, hoping it might be different. But no. Every time the same words. Every time the same outcome.

His only child, his beloved son Ulfric, in love with a fanatical madman, blind to the danger, and willing to cast off all his prior loyalties, to country, King, Empire, and the young teenage Jarl in exile that had hired him in the first place, in order to follow some mad dream of setting up a Talos sanctuary. In the midst of a people Talos had overthrown once.

The Empire was going to retaliate. The _Thalmor_ were going to retaliate. And his son, who’d been a Thalmor captive once (he still had the letter from Ulfric’s then commanding officer informing him his son had been taken prisoner and was presumed dead) was placing himself straight in the firing line.

Jarl Hoag couldn’t bear to think of the serious-minded, sensitive young boy he’d raised being slaughtered by the Legion he’d once served when Titus Mede came to reclaim the lost province. And he definitely felt tears come to his eyes as he imagined Ulfric in the Witch-King’s power. The Witch-King who hated Nords and had one Nord Jarl’s blood on his hands already. The Witch-King who now had his son wrapped round his little finger.

If that bastard had laid one finger on his boy, there’d be hell to pay.

As it was, the news had had him prostrate with grief for days, and then there’d been the preparations. Delphine had taken charge of them, sending out people to spy out the Reach and find out news, organising an honour guard, reading his attempts to draft a letter back to Ulfric and shaking her head, because he couldn’t finish any of them. What was there to say, other than ‘how could you’ and ‘what are you thinking, boy??’ and ‘son, stop this, come home at once’.

Delphine had taken him in her arms and told him perhaps they needed to take him up on his offer and visit in person. She’d been in touch already with Jarl Balgruuf, and he’d noted a distinct lack of Reachman activity on his borders lately, and then he’d acted on her news, got his own housecarl to shake down the Khajiit traders for info… and it had turned out Ulfric hadn’t lied. The Khajiit had been allowed to travel to Markarth, stopped by Hroldan, and found a Nord settlement there, expanding daily and keen to trade. There’d also been sightings of a timber convoy travelling Reachwards with Dengeir’s arms on them, and that had had Delphine enquiring with Falkreath as well. Dengeir had replied with the same story – Ulfric settling down out there, bragging he’d tamed the Witch-King and reached an agreement, and Talos worship was lawful in the Reach. And he was buying timber… and the initial agreement had turned into chests of gold materialising suddenly and more lumber being shipped west. Ulfric’s initial order had turned into a regular supply line, and in greater quantities than Ulfric alone needed. Delphine had confirmed his fears – Madanach was using Ulfric as a proxy for his own trading needs.

It was time to meet and find out what was going on, and with an invitation from Ulfric to hand, Jarl Hoag was better placed than anyone to find out. 

So here he was, riding in the back of Jarl Balgruuf’s carriage, with Balgruuf himself, his Dunmer housecarl Irileth… and his own. Delphine, who’d returned from the war with Ulfric, a former Blades agent who’d been the one to rescue him from the Thalmor and who Ulfric had declared a firm friend now. A friend who needed sanctuary from the Thalmor herself now. 

Jarl Hoag had fallen in love at first sight and promptly offered her a place in the court, where she’d gone on to become his spymistress and housecarl, and after ascertaining she wasn’t involved with his son, his mistress. Maybe wife one day, but Delphine had resisted the idea. Who knew what would happen. But he could appreciate love back in his life after so long a widower (twenty nine years, after his beloved Ildi had died from a fever less than a week after giving birth to Ulfric). It even gave him some sympathy for sudden love’s effects on a son who’d never really known it before.

But of all the people to get infatuated with… That was if Ulfric’s feelings were genuine and he wasn’t the victim of dark magic. Neither Hoag nor Delphine could rule that out for sure.

“Do you think Madanach’s using blood magic on him?” Hoag asked quietly. They’d come to a halt in the shadow of Sungard, Irileth going ahead to see what the issue was, and Balgruuf following after. “Does my son still have his free will?”

“If Dengeir’s saying Ulfric was claiming he’d tamed Madanach, most likely,” Delphine said, wry grin on her face. “I can’t see the King of the Witchmen liking the idea of being tamed by anybody.” 

That was not actually a comfort.

“Gods damn it, Delphine, he can’t possibly have freely consented to marriage!” Hoag cried. “He as good as admits in this Madanach proposed marriage so as to make the peace deal go over better with his own people!”

“That doesn’t mean feelings aren’t involved,” Delphine said thoughtfully. “So he was bragging to Dengeir – that’s men all over in my experience. But to you, he writes saying he’s in love and has never been happier. He didn’t have to. He could have written similarly to you, saying he’d won over the Reach-King and was practically in charge over there. But he’s not. He’s asking for your forgiveness. He’s saying he’s in love and happy and essentially changed his entire course after talking with the man. I don’t even know about Madanach. The man’s slippery as an eel and as manipulative as they come. He doesn’t need blood magic to influence someone. But I think Ulfric’s genuinely in love.”

Hoag placed a hand to his forehead, feeling tears come to his eyes.

“That witchman bastard’s going to destroy my son,” Hoag whispered, remembering the young boy who’d wanted to be just like his father but been afraid he’d fail, and a young man preparing for war, afraid but determined to save the Empire… and the angry and bitter man returning from the war, who even Delphine and Galmar hadn’t been able to reach, broken beyond anyone’s ability to heal. Hoag had wept to see his brave young boy fractured like this, and he’d worried even more when Ulfric had gone off to the Reach, far too viciously joyful about wreaking vengeance on the witchmen for Hoag’s liking. Hoag had feared and wept, praying to the Nine for his son’s safety, but he’d feared it would be otherwise. He’d feared there’d be horrors anew out there lying in wait, and the ones he feared the most were the ones his son might be inflicting.

He’d not for one second predicted Ulfric might lay down his arms voluntarily, and he couldn’t trust that this was a good thing.

But he had no chance to reflect on this. The obstacle turned out to be a Reachkin checkpoint, and voices were being raised.

“We don’t know you, Nord, and the King doesn’t want another Nord army on his doorstep. It’s enough the Stormcloak mob are sticking around,” the Reachwoman spokesperson was saying, her arms folded as she managed to stare down a Nord Jarl taller than she was. “No writ, no entry.”

“Dammit woman, we’re not invading!” Balgruuf shouted. “We want to talk, that’s all. He’s got the Jarl of Windhelm’s son captive, is what we heard!”

“The Jarl of Windhelm’s son came here in force and nearly starved Markarth to death, Nord,” the woman snarled back. “He’s lucky he’s not dead. But you were misinformed. He is no prisoner. He is a citizen of the Reach now, and serves the Reach-King willingly. You need not fear for him. Fear for yourselves, Nord. We have two entire bases nearby.”

“Do that, and you bring down war with all Skyrim on your head,” Irileth said, grimacing. “Your king’s already made enemies.”

“He’s made friends too, Dark Elf,” the woman laughed, glancing at her comrades in amusement. “But we can be reasonable. You are coming no further… but if you wish to write a letter of introduction to the King, we will relay it to him. If he says yes, you can proceed.”

Delphine was nudging Hoag even as they were disembarking, Hoag realising his intervention was needed. Balgruuf was a good man and a good Jarl… but he’d only recently taken the throne after his father’s death. He was still inexperienced.

“That letter. It’s an invitation from a citizen of the Reach, and the King’s fiance at that. Show it as proof we’re guests.”

Hoag disliked sharing something so personal… but perhaps it might just get them past the border guards. So he made his way forward to talk to the guards… who saw his shield with the Windhelm bear and lost the mocking confidence.

“That’s the Stormcloak’s arms,” the woman said, frowning. “Are you with them? We’re not expecting a returning party.”

“I’m Jarl Hoag Stormcloak,” Hoag growled. “His _father_. Here, I have a letter from Ulfric. Inviting me here to talk about his _terrible decision-making!_ ” 

The woman took the letter off him and read it, eyes widening as she beckoned everyone else to read it. Silence as they all scanned the letter and then as one they all looked up and said “awwww!”

“Nord man wrote that about me, I’d let him under my kilt as well,” one of the men remarked, to much giggling.

“Well now, this makes a difference,” the woman said, sounding rather kinder. “We still need the King’s permission to admit you, but we’ll send someone to Sungard to raise Markarth for you. Court’ll be open, we’ll likely get the response within the hour – hey?”

More Reachmen arriving, and on the cliffs above, archers and mages were appearing, all watching intently.

“Hold there, Myfanwy. We have orders from Understone. The Stormcloak Jarl’s expected. King says he’ll meet for a parley at Yroldain. Word’s on its way to the steward there to prepare. Thane Ulfric’ll be there too – don’t know if he’s actually at his holdings or the King’s bringing him, but he’ll be there.”

Myfanwy nodded and handed Hoag’s letter back to him.

“Seems King Madanach’s a step ahead, as always,” she said, sounding rather impressed. “All right, give us a few minutes to get the barricades moved and you can go through. Stick to the road, you hear? It’ll take you straight there in about an hour or so.”

“Oh, and take care, Nord,” the newcomer added. “You’ll have company on the road. King’s keen you don’t get lost or anything.”

Seeing as Hroldan was literally down the road and Hoag had travelled it before if not Balgruuf, it was blatantly obvious Madanach was really just keen they didn’t go anywhere they weren’t supposed to. But it was better than the alternative.

Balgruuf sidled over as the Reachmen started clearing the way.

“Didn’t know you’d made Ulfric a Thane,” Balgruuf said, and all knew full well this hadn’t happened.

“He’s not,” Hoag said, shivering. “Not of Eastmarch or any other Hold I know of.”

Delphine looked around, seeing the Reach around her, a Skyrim Hold turned independent kingdom and voiced the truth they’d all been avoiding.

“I think he’s a Thane of this one. Madanach gave his lover a title to go with the settlement.”

Whether it was a sign to Madanach’s people that Ulfric was important, or something to honour Ulfric on a personal level, Hoag felt his heart sink. Ulfric hadn’t mentioned this in his letter, which meant things had moved on significantly since then. A title meant this was official. A title meant Ulfric was part of the Reach’s establishment – and they’d given him a Nordic title too. Which meant Madanach was actually honouring his lover’s culture.

Ulfric had committed himself wholeheartedly, which meant it was too late to stop this now, and the thought broke Hoag’s heart. But he was not abandoning his son.

“Come on,” said Hoag gruffly, returning to the carriage. “We’re not leaving until I’ve spoken with my boy. I will hear the full story from him and no other.”

They all knew the story would not be one to cheer him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

And so Nords and Reachmen converged on Hroldan, the Nords already there welcoming their kinsmen – literally in several cases, many had signed up with Hoag’s honour guard precisely to find out if their kin in the Stormcloaks were all right.

Reachmen leading them… and Reachmen falling in in their wake, blocking a return. If these talks didn’t go well, they were all doomed.

“They won’t kill two Nord Jarls,” Delphine said confidently. “They won’t want the backlash.”

“He’s killed one already,” Irileth snapped, moving closer to Balgruuf, who did his best to look confident but was fingering a hidden amulet rather closely. A Talos amulet perhaps? Hoag still had his own. He hoped Talos would watch over them today.

Hroldan’s walls loomed up – walls?? A wooden set of ramparts, and scaffolding behind while the stone wall took shape. More buildings too, not just an inn but a longhouse looming above all, and platforms built over the Karth to allow for more building room. Stormcloak banners everywhere – but alongside them, silver banners with a red eagle on them that must be Madanach’s coat of arms. And in the middle of it all, a statue of Talos and a shrine that had seen better days… but that a sign announced as the shrine of Talos Defiant, Bloodied But Not Beaten, a god reconciled in friendship with former enemies against far greater foes. Underneath that, text none could interpret that read ‘Talos Keteenaic – nua goronad Rhan-Dionach. Hir feid yan Thu’um tagraic holl Rhanvi, yan nua Tir Beannachte.’ 

Candles burned at his feet, offerings of juniper, mountain flowers and septims lay around the shrine, and someone had even placed a Forsworn bow there, and a briar heart?? Had Reachmen been dropping by?? Yes – there were a few in the town alongside the Nords and one of them even translated the strange language on the sign as ‘Talos Repentant, new crowned Defender of the Reach. Long may his Thu’um protect us all in the Reach, his new Holy Land’.

“Sorry, I cannot have heard that right,” Balgruuf said, frowning. “The Reach is Talos’s new Holy Land?”

“Sure is!” the Reachman said smugly. “The Nords brought their Sybil to Markarth to tell the King Talos was sorry and very grateful for the Talos sanctuary. Turns out she actually went and manifested him, right in the middle of Markarth! Sight to see.”

“So the First Matriarch came down here to talk to the Sybil after that, and now we’re allowed to visit the shrine if we like,” his friend added. “Matriarch Keirine was the one who left the Heart here. That’s approval, that is.”

It no doubt meant they’d given Talos status equivalent to one of their Briarheart warriors. Hoag supposed they meant it as a compliment, but all the same, the thought made him feel vaguely nauseous. And a First Matriarch?? Hoag dearly hoped that wasn’t a title for one of those filthy Hagravens.

“Hoag, what the fuck is going on here,” Balgruuf hissed, pulling Hoag into a huddle, with Delphine also joining in. Good, Hoag was hoping she’d have some insight because damned if he did.

“If I had to guess, significant theological development on both sides to allow for peaceful co-existence,” Delphine said, actually looking impressed. “Sounds like they’re trying, Balgruuf. I don’t know if it was really Talos, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Ulfric and Madanach planned something. A gesture of reconciliation on both sides. The Nord Sybil pronounces Talos’s blessing on them all, and says he’s sorry, and the Reachmen start working on ways to integrate the Penitent God into their own pantheon as some sort of divine protector. I have to say it’s inspired.”

“It’s an abomination, is what it is,” Balgruuf snapped. “Talos the Briar Heart?? I swear, Hoag...”

Hoag looked up at the statue, starting to wonder if he was going mad. Reachmen calling on Talos for protection, and a reference to the Thu’um as the weapon that would smite their enemies? Could only be a nod to his son’s abilities.

He didn’t know whether to be proud or sad.

And then there was a commotion on the other side of the camp as the western gates flung open, every single person in the town stopped what they were doing and settled in to watch, and the way was cleared for the newcomers to arrive.

Red Eagle banners. Lots of Reachmen warriors. And a few Stormcloaks too, Galmar at their head, who actually led the way, Galmar stopping, bowing to Hoag without a word, and then the Nords parting to form an honour guard.

“All rise for the Reach-King and Thane Ulfric!” one of the Reachman announced, and Hoag got his first sight of his son since leaving Windhelm… and the bloody-handed monster that had seduced him.

Ulfric looked much the same, healthy as ever, in his usual Stormcloak gear, axe at his waist… but the shield was new and there was something about his face. He looked younger somehow. Less grizzled. But Hoag couldn’t tell more from that distance. Only that Ulfric looked pained and had taken a step forward… and then the blonde demon in the fancy red robes and golden circlet had stopped him.

“Wait,” King Madanach growled, illusion magic amplifying his voice so all heard it… and nothing in that voice sounded good or holy or right. “Standard security spells first. Need to make sure you are who you say you are. Hold tight, this won’t harm you.”

The Reach-King raised his hand, eyes glowing as he cast, a powerful Illusion spell rushing over them like a wave, leaving Hoag feeling cool and refreshed as the air ionised and all magic in the vicinity was swept away.

And as the spell took effect, some of Hoag’s fine Nord soldiers changed into Bosmer and Khajiit fighters in ill-fitting Windhelm armour, staring about them in shock as they realised they were rumbled.

“Thalmor agents!” Delphine cried, drawing her strange Akaviri sword. “Kill them all!”

“Kill the Blade!” one of the Bosmer cried, and the agents all converged as one on Delphine… apart from the Khajiit nearest Hoag, who sprang forward, claws reaching out to a neck not quite protected by his Nordic bear armour, and sent sprays of blood flying as he slashed Hoag’s throat open.

Ulfric, who’d wanted nothing more than to go to his father’s arms and beg forgiveness, saw his father fall… and the anger that had been successfully managed, kept in check, channelled into more constructive pursuits and been quietened anyway as Ulfric got up every day, saw the beautiful and beloved King of the Reachmen lying next to him and realised the world very definitely still had many good things left to it, suddenly flared into life again as he realised he might never feel his father’s arms round him again.

Screaming his rage to the gods, Ulfric sprang forward, Unrelenting Force smashing the cat to the ground and Ulfric’s axe doing the rest, hacking into his father’s murderer (maybe?), blind to anything but rage and vengeance, almost hearing the sounds of Elenwen’s damn healing chimes in the back of his mind as he reduced the Thalmor agent to blood, fur and mangled flesh. He was heedless of the chaos around him as Delphine took on three agents at once, and then Irileth had handled one, Galmar had bodyslammed and killed another and Delphine’s own sword decapitated the last.

And then Galmar had placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back and telling him he could stop now, the cat was definitely dead, and Ulfric sat back, axe falling from his hands as the rage finally subsided… and his brain finally processed what had just happened and the grief closed in.

“Father...” Ulfric gasped, feeling tears leaking from his eyes already as he looked about for his father’s body… and didn’t see it. “Where is he?”

“Hoag!” Delphine had cried, anguished as she ran to where Hoag Stormcloak was lying, head cradled in Madanach’s lap... wait. Madanach was tending to Ulfric's father?

“All right there, _vada,_ take it easy, you lost a lot of blood,” Ulfric heard Madanach saying gently, holding out a hand and taking a healing vial off one of his soldiers and carefully lifting it to Hoag’s lips. And Hoag Stormcloak moaned and tried to sit up, not quite managing it very well, but well enough to drink at least some of it before collapsing back in Madanach’s arms again.

Ulfric realised that far from his traumatised brain hallucinating Elenwen’s healing magic, he’d actually been hearing his lover’s, Madanach leaping into action to save Ulfric’s beloved father.

Not even bothering to stop the tears by this point, Ulfric staggered over to his father’s side, kneeling next to Delphine, who’d already taken Hoag’s hand in his.

“Father,” Ulfric gasped, tears rolling down his cheeks as all the day’s emotions got the better of him. “Father, I’m _sorry._ ”

And then Ulfric Stormcloak was openly weeping in public, sobbing helplessly, and wanting nothing more than strong, loving arms around him and a deep, masculine voice to tell him it was going to be all right. Alas, his father, much as he was trying to reach out for his son, just wasn’t strong enough.

But Madanach, after calling for the Reachguard medics to take over from him and settle Hoag down with Delphine’s help, moved round and came to kneel by Ulfric’s side, arms going round him as he took his lover in his arms.

“It’s all right,” Madanach whispered, kissing Ulfric’s cheek and holding him tight, running fingers through his hair. “I’ve got you, love. I’ve got you. It’s all right. It’s all right.”

Silence all around as Madanach comforted his lover and it was only after Ulfric had taken a minute to compose himself that he sat up to finally speak with his father.

Hoag had not stopped staring at them both, blue eyes like Ulfric's not leaving his son. Ulfric, arms still round Madanach, stared back, only appearing slightly apologetic.

“Father,” Ulfric said softly. “This is Madanach.”

Hoag’s eyes shifted to Madanach, who nodded to him, and to Ulfric’s surprise, Hoag nodded respectfully back.

“We met,” Hoag managed to rasp out. “While he was saving my life.”

Madanach actually inclined his head.

“It was no trouble,” he said quietly. “I… don’t actually know how to address a Nord Jarl, my apologies.”

No surprises that had been left out of Madanach’s education.

“Jarl or Jarl Hoag will do, we don’t go in for fancy titles,” Ulfric told him, squeezing his hand and giving Madanach an encouraging little smile. “You’re doing well.”

“He is,” Hoag managed to get out. “I could almost see Shor’s Hall. But your magic saved me. I… thank you. You are not anything like I imagined.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask what you imagined,” Madanach laughed, still sounding rather nervous. “I can probably guess. But we can talk more back at my Keep? You can rest in safety with my healers seeing to you, and after this, I’d feel safer in my own city.”

Hoag couldn't rightly disagree there, and arrangements were made to get Hoag on the back of Madanach’s personal carriage. Delphine however still looked concerned, looking about her anxiously.

“Bosmer and Khajiit couldn’t have managed magic like that alone. There’s a Justiciar somewhere, mark my words.”

Movement on the crags above, a grey shadow subtly shifting… and a bowstring twanged. Over by the Karth, a man’s cry of pain and a splash as a body fell into the river. A body that turned out to be a High Elf in a Thalmor robe.

“So. The Dominion are involved,” Balgruuf noted from where he’d been watching all this. “Damn elves! Should have known they wouldn’t play fair. Infiltrating a Jarl’s court, planning Nine know what, an assassination attempt even!”

Assassinating the Jarl of Windhelm while he was in Madanach’s territory would have dealt the peace process a serious blow and all knew it. But Delphine wasn’t convinced.

“They didn’t have enough people to take on the Stormcloaks, Madanach’s people and your retinue too, and even with Hoag dead, you and Ulfric both would have stood as witnesses the Reach wasn’t to blame,” Delphine said bitterly. “Madanach might have gained if Ulfric had gone straight back to take Windhelm over.”

Marrying a Jarl was one up from marrying the Jarl’s son… but Madanach knew Ulfric would have been heartbroken, and the thought of Ulfric going back to Windhelm was a sad one. One day he’d have to deal with Ulfric as Jarl and his husband moving to the other side of Skyrim. But not yet.

“I’d rather have Ulfric here and not mourning his da,” Madanach snapped and to his surprise, Delphine seemed to approve, just a little.

“I can see that,” Delphine said, looking him over. “You’ve actually dressed up for the occasion, and you seem to genuinely care about Ulfric. We were concerned you were using him for your own gain or even employing dark magic. But here Ulfric is, still very much his own man, and here you are, actually acting like a man meeting his father-in-law. Looks like your relationship’s actually real.”

“Of course it’s real, I wouldn't be putting in the effort I am if I didn’t care,” Madanach growled, annoyed at having his feelings dissected so publicly.

“Heartwarming,” Balgruuf growled. “Doesn’t change the fact you’re a murdering usurper, and King Istlod will be harder to win over than Jarl Hoag. The King won’t care how happy you and Ulfric are together.”

“He might care if one of his own Jarls withdraws his support,” Irileth remarked. The Dunmer had been quiet so far, just noticing and observing… and one of the things she’d noticed had been a large number of Reachfolk all turning heads to look at her, all raising their eyebrows… and smiling. Some of the men had even been posing, and most of them, men, women and the not immediately obvious alike, had made subtle efforts to try and look appealing. 

Irileth had come across elf fetishists before but not in those numbers, and she began to wonder if there was something about Reach culture that meant that they actually liked elves or at least were predisposed to give them the benefit of the doubt. It was an odd thought but it did at least make her inclined to not make assumptions.

“What do you mean?” Balgruuf said sharply, turning his eyes to her, alarmed. They’d served together in the war and he knew her to be a capable soldier with a bright mind. After comradeship had turned into genuine friendship and respect, he’d asked her to come back to Whiterun with him, promising her work with his father’s court. Neither had expected to come home and find his father dead, but with Balgruuf as a newly appointed Jarl, there’d been one choice alone for his housecarl – his trusted friend Irileth. 

“The shrine says Talos has hallowed the Reach as his new Holy Land,” Irileth said, nodding at the statue. “Hoag likely still worships him in secret and so probably does Istlod. That’ll give them both pause. And Ulfric’s clearly leading the movement to promote that idea. I think if anyone tries to invade, Ulfric will fight with all he’s capable of, and Hoag will back his son. Istlod risks losing Eastmarch as well as the Reach. And we know they’re trading with Dengeir. If he sides with them too, it only takes one or two others to switch sides before there’s enough to call a Moot. Skald of Dawnstar’s not exactly a fan of the Concordat either. Nor is Fura of Winterhold, or Harrald Law-Giver. What if Istlod found his support limited to just us and Yngva Ravencrone?”

The Ravencrones were a long line of magically gifted seers who were rumoured to be of Reach-blood themselves, and Yngva’s support was by no means guaranteed. Balgruuf couldn’t honestly say he wasn’t at least rethinking things himself.

“I’d say your High King might find himself feeling rather lonely,” Madanach purred, looking absolutely fascinated by all this. “What matters more to him, keeping the Empire sweet or keeping the respect of his Jarls?”

“What matters more to you, keeping the respect of your people or keeping your Nord plaything sweet?” Balgruuf snapped at Madanach, and immediately regretted it, because Madanach’s eyes were suddenly glowing white and frost began forming on Balgruuf’s arms.

“ _Don’t_ you dare talk about my Ulfric like that,” Madanach snarled, even as Balgruuf yelped and Irileth stepped forward… and then the frost faded and Madanach regained control of himself.

“I haven’t had to choose, Nord,” Madanach snapped, glancing at the Talos statue. “Talos’s own Sybil apologised to us for his crimes past and said that our land was under his protection now. Talos Rhan-Dionach is on our side now. You turned your back on him, and we took him in, so now he’s abandoned you and decided to protect us. That means my people are happy about having the Nords here and no one’s calling for my head. I can marry Ulfric, and the Reach will wish us well and throw a party. My kingdom’s united, Nord. Can you say the same?”

Balgruuf glared back at Madanach, then his eyes too travelled to the statue.

“I want to speak with this Sybil,” Balgruuf said firmly. “Without you here telling her what to say.”

“Fine,” Madanach said without even hesitating. “Ulfric’s steward Brunwulf will see to your needs, and you can all stay here. I’ll take Delphine here and some of Hoag’s retinue with me back to Markarth so they can tend to their Jarl. When you’re done assuaging your curiosity, you can come to Markarth. Whole city saw her channel him. Talk to anyone you like.”

“Oh, I will, Reach-King,” Balgruuf promised, still glaring at him. “I will.”

And so Madanach called Brunwulf Free-Winter over and told him the Jarl of Whiterun wished to stay and have a look round, and to make him comfortable, also get him an audience with the Sybil. With one Jarl seen to, that just left Madanach alone with the other one’s lover.

Who was looking very uncomfortable. Madanach had a feeling he knew why.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Madanach said, guessing what was bothering her. “It was the Thalmor’s doing, not yours. You didn’t bring this on him, Delphine Acafyreen.”

Delphine looked up sharply… and then her shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Ulfric told you what I really am, huh.”

“He said you were the Blades agent who rescued him from the Thalmor, and after the treaty was signed, you took him up on his grandiose promises that he was in your debt,” Madanach said, recalling Ulfric ruefully admitting he’d not foreseen the repayment being smuggling her out of Cyrodiil in his entourage. But he’d done it, and taken her all the way to Windhelm, and his father had taken one look and been smitten.

Delphine didn’t even bother denying it.

“Those assassins weren’t after him,” Delphine said bitterly. “They were after me. There was a reason they’d avoided my attention – I was their quarry. They just needed evidence. Or perhaps they just wanted revenge. Talos knows I’ve wrecked enough Thalmor plans before now. I guess I can’t stay in Windhelm any more. I lose Hoag anyway.”

Madanach felt his heart go out to her, but there was nothing he could do… or was there.

“You’ll need to go underground, yeah,” Madanach said thoughtfully, thinking of something the Nightingale had said not long after she’d first joined his side. “But… perhaps I might be able to help. Come back to Markarth with me. I might have some work for you.”

“What manner of work,” Delphine said, guarded. “And what’s the price for your protection, me trying to persuade Hoag to side with the Reach against his own king?”

“You haven’t heard the job yet,” Madanach said, grinning. “Look, come back with me and when I’ve had a chance to meet with my agent and talk with her, we’ll discuss it, right?”

“Right,” Delphine said, eyeing him cautiously. She still didn’t trust him… but he wasn’t Thalmor, so she was inclined to at least listen… for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exciting, wasn't it? Vada is Reach-tongue for father - the formal version, generally reserved for in-laws rather than your own parents. Acafyreen means 'of the Akaviri', referencing Delphine being a Blade. The dedication of the Talos statue got translated in text.
> 
> Last time I wrote Hoag was way back in With a Dragonborn Like This, where he's Delphine's deceased ex who got killed by Thalmor assassins who were actually after her. Here, he's still alive, they're a couple and the Thalmor assassins just got thwarted, and there's an excellent chance he'll have some Reachman bodyguards when he returns home.
> 
> I haven't decided Istlod's reaction to all this yet, but whether he agrees to talk terms or doesn't, I have plans to handle it. As far as the other Jarls go, you've met Balgruuf as the newly appointed Whiterun Jarl, but other than Hoag and Istlod, the other Jarls are Dengeir and Skald from the game itself, Laila's father, Korir's mother and Idgrod's mother. Laila, Korir and Idgrod are in their teens, and may or may not feature personally.
> 
> Either way, Delphine's going to meet a certain Dunmer agent and end up doing a certain questline twenty five years early.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric and Hoag need to talk, and the results prove surprising. Delphine needs help too, and to her surprise, the political situation might just offer it... if she's willing to get involved with some shady people. Madanach's all on board with the plan but it's the upshot of Ulfric talking to his father that finally gives him the courage to tell Ulfric something else.

The journey back to Markarth proved uneventful, with Hoag in the back of the carriage, Delphine and Ulfric with him and Madanach climbing in next to the driver. Once back at Markarth, Madanach left Ulfric and Delphine with the Jarl while he returned to the Keep to send healers… and brief Nepos… and deal with several excited children and one Marquise who also wanted to know what had happened.

So it was Ulfric was left with his father, who’d been seen to by skilled Reachman healers who’d assured him his father was going to be fine but needed to rest and rehydrate. Delphine also slipped out at that point, and Ulfric was left alone with his father for the first time since leaving Windhelm.

“So, they told me all the beds were made of stone here,” Hoag said, trying to make conversation. They’d so far managed to avoid discussing the mammoth in the room… but that couldn’t be put off forever.

“Madanach was a great believer in his people’s conditions improving when he took the city,” Ulfric said, smiling a little at that. “One of his first acts was to sort the beds out. Too many of his soldiers complained about their accommodation in the Keep being worse than in their tribal camps.”

“Got to keep the men happy,” Hoag said, laughing a little and only wincing a bit from still-aching throat muscles. Ulfric saw and moved at once to assist.

“Are you all right, father?” Ulfric asked, concerned as he helped him sit up, positioning the pillows behind him. He’d been like this all afternoon. Solicitous, caring, the hotheaded warrior he’d seen in Windhelm changed into a kind and gentle son who’d sat with his injured father and tended to him. He’d even been nice to the Reachkin medics, thanking them for their aid and for helping his father.

Considering at least two of the Palace of the Kings’ servants had resigned due to Ulfric shouting at them, and a further three had lodged complaints, this was a significant change. This was Ulfric acting like he had as a boy. And now he’d seen his son up close, he’d seen something else too. Ulfric’s scars were gone. It made him look years younger. Gentler. Kinder. More innocent.

It would take some serious magic to sort the scars out but Hoag had no doubt the Reachfolk had access to it. Madanach alone was probably capable.

Question was, why had Ulfric had them removed? It couldn’t be vanity. Nord warriors were proud of their scars. No one was shaming Ulfric for his marks of bravery.

“Are you?” Hoag asked, frowning as he reached up to touch his son’s face. “I noticed your scars are gone. You always seemed proud of them. Did he make you get rid of them?”

Ulfric actually flinched, and then he was withdrawing, solicitousness gone as his entire body closed up.

“Why must you always assume he is the one forcing me into something?” Ulfric snapped. “He has forced me into _nothing!_ The only thing he insisted on was me seeing a mindhealer! He refused to wed me until I had learned...” He stopped, laughing to himself, and shrugging, the rant apparently ceasing.

“Until I had learned to deal with anger by some other means than either shouting or punching someone or something,” Ulfric admitted, grinning. “He… may have had a point. I did not like the idea at the time, but it has helped.”

It had indeed. It wasn’t even an unreasonable request… and Ulfric seemed so different these days. So much happier, and less intense. So much less angry, and when he had become angry, he’d been able to express it then reign it in. It was quite the change.

Hoag more than anything still wanted to hate Madanach. Hoag wanted to drag his son home, shout some sense into him, leave this entire damn country behind and let Istlod deal with it. 

But he couldn't do it. Already he could see Ulfric changing, slowly but surely, into a better person. Already he could see Ulfric being happier, more open, more willing to express his emotions… and alongside him, Madanach the Reach-King, who’d saved his own life, been polite… and been the one to comfort his son when emotion got the better of him. 

Hoag knew deep in his heart that that relationship was real. Ulfric genuinely loved Madanach… and Madanach clearly felt the same. For his only real demand to be that Ulfric get help for issues that were clearly destroying him… Hoag could weep. Madanach was healing his son from wounds he couldn't even see properly. He was Ulfric’s father and he’d been able to do nothing, but this barbarian warlord had managed it in weeks. 

Hoag needed to know how, and that meant talking… and listening to his son. 

“So what did happen to the scars?” Hoag asked, settling back into the pillows. “You always seemed proud of them. A reminder you survived, you told me.”

To his surprise, Ulfric lowered his eyes, shuddering.

“No,” Ulfric said softly. “I just said they were a reminder. I said nothing else. I let the rest of you come up with whatever story you would. I was never...”

He closed his eyes, fingers intertwined as he brought his hands together and then let go, hands clenching into fists.

“They are not battle scars,” Ulfric said stiffly. “They were the work of a Thalmor interrogator called Elenwen. She left them as a reminder, so that I’d always remember our time together. Our time…!”

Ulfric let out a sob and buried his head in his hands, and Hoag reached out a hand, wanting to help his son but not knowing how. He’d never talked about it. Never. Hoag had always suspected but Ulfric had never said a word and reacted to questions with either anger or clamming up completely and denying there was a problem, depending on who he was talking to and what he could get away with.

“Ulfric…” Hoag whispered, desperate to comfort his son, desperate to offer the emotional support he’d been trying to for months… but never been able to. Ulfric didn’t reach back to him, but he didn’t erupt into rage either.

“And after all that, removing them wasn’t even intentional,” Ulfric said quietly, his voice even but muffled. “There was a battle – I was clearing out a mine infested by Draugr, there was this infernal fire trap that kept hitting me. Madanach and Galmar came after me and saved me, but I was badly hurt. I knew I wouldn't just be scarred but disfigured if I didn’t submit to Restoration magic. So I pleaded with Madanach to heal me, even though he knew I hated the chimes. He agreed. I still can’t stand the chimes but I am getting better at handling them… and when they came from him, I could bear it in a way I could from no other. Turns out when he fixed one set of injuries, it took the scars too. The poor man was mortified. He was afraid he’d removed a badge of honour. But he’d taken my greatest shame away. I had found him attractive before. My feelings had been growing anyway. But in that moment, I fell in love. He is the greatest treasure I have ever found and I would not be without him now.”

So much was falling into place as Hoag realised the Thalmor had used Restoration magic on him after hurting him, and the chimes had been unbearable for Ulfric ever since… but rather than admit it, his stubborn son had ranted about magic being un-Nordlike instead so it was never used near him. Until he’d needed magic, and finally found someone he’d trusted enough to allow it.

“Ulfric, why didn’t you tell me, I could have helped!” Hoag cried, devastated by the thought of his son suffering and keeping it all to himself for so long. He knew, he’d always known, that Ulfric had come back carrying wounds. But hearing it confirmed broke his heart all over again.

“Because I don’t need your pity!” Ulfric snapped, head shooting up as he glared at his father. “It’s enough to know you think I’m weak, I don’t need to hear it!”

“I don’t think that!” Hoag cried, unable to hear this any longer. “I never thought that! You’re my son, and I love you! I already lost your mother. I couldn’t bear to lose you as well. I’ve never thought you were weak, son! I just wanted to keep you safe! And I failed completely. You came back when you weren’t supposed to leave High Hrothgar and then you went off to fight in that damn war, and came back a different man! And I could do nothing. Then you took that job against my advice, despite me pleading with you not to, to leave it to the Empire and High King. And now they’ll both be coming for Madanach and for you, and once more I can do nothing!”

Hoag covered his face, feeling tears coming, because his son had suffered enough, his sweet young boy who loved nothing more than stories of Nord heroes and his stuffed bear Grimnir. A boy turned into a man who’d suffered unimaginably, nearly let it destroy him, and only found healing when he’d thrown in his lot with the leader of a rogue state.

Under any other circumstances, Hoag would be ecstatic for his son. But the Reach faced invasion when the Empire decided to reclaim the lost province… and it would happen one day. It would be a fight the Empire would eventually win… and then they’d execute his beloved boy. Hoag couldn't bear to think about it.

Until his son moved nearer and placed a hand on his shoulder. Slowly, Hoag lifted his head, tears glistening on his cheeks, looking up to see his son smiling at him, tears in his own eyes but happy. Ildi’s smile. He’d not truly seen it since she’d died.

“Do you truly not believe me unworthy?” Ulfric whispered. Hoag shook his head. How could he? 

“Never, my son,” Hoag gasped, taking Ulfric’s hand in his. “In truth, you’re just like your mother. She was quiet, gentle, kind-hearted… and the type to take everything to heart and bottle it up. She didn’t like burdening people with her problems… but she trusted me with them. You’ve got her hair, her cheekbones, you remind me of her so much. Of course I love you. You’re all I have left! But this… this could destroy you.”

Ulfric took his hand and squeezed it, before kissing Hoag’s forehead.

“No, father,” Ulfric said, practically brimming over with pride. “The Thalmor destroyed me. Madanach helped put me back together. He has healed me in more ways than one. I stand with him as he has with me. Can’t you see that?”

The tragedy was, Hoag could see it all too clearly. Ulfric truly had been healed, body and soul. Madanach was clearly good for him. It was a tragic shame that Madanach was also a rogue warlord who was likely going to end up dethroned sooner rather than later.

“They will invade eventually, my son,” Hoag whispered. “It is only a matter of time before the Legion come.”

“They will not succeed,” Ulfric said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. “We had the hardest time invading. We faced all of it. Blood magic. Fireballs. The raised corpses of fallen comrades. The only thing that let us get even as far as we did was my Thu’um.”

Ulfric leaned in closer, grin widening.

“The Empire has no one with the Thu’um, and should they invade, they will not just face difficult terrain, limited routes into the country, ambushes, blood magic, fire, frost, lightning, necromancy, everything else. They will also face the fiercest fighters Skyrim has to offer, and the power of my Thu’um. Talos blessed this land, father, we all saw it. My Stormcloaks will fight for this land with all they are capable of, because it gave them a home when their own homeland no longer could. We can hold the Empire off indefinitely. Or at least until they’re tired of a war they can’t win.”

Ulfric sat back, looking far too pleased with himself.

“You seem to think this is destined to end in tragedy. I disagree. Madanach and I can hold out. We can win this! But...” Ulfric shrugged, sighing. “Madanach would rather secure the Reach’s future with peaceful means. He wants to be recognised as the king of a legitimate kingdom. And I confess I would enjoy the prestige of being married to a powerful king. I’m aware there’d need to be peace talks for that. I’m prepared to attend them alongside my troth-plighted. If Istlod’s willing to meet us.”

Hoag lay back on his pillows, closing his eyes as he realised where this was going.

“You want me to assist with these talks,” Hoag sighed, weary already.

“Yes,” Ulfric finally admitted. “If you can.”

Nine have mercy. Hoag should have known there’d be something lurking in wait and he had no idea if this was Ulfric’s idea or Madanach’s words in his son’s mouth. A little of both, he suspected. Madanach probably came up with the idea and was no doubt a very persuasive man with a lot of influence over his son… but Ulfric was stubborn, and hard to talk out of something he had his heart set on. Alas for having his heart set on the King of the Reach.

“And if Istlod refuses? Or the Empire veto matters?” Hoag asked. “You know they will want a seat at the table. As will their new Thalmor friends.”

“I know,” Ulfric said, glowering. “I don’t expect you to persuade him outright. Just get him to meet with us. You’re still a Jarl of Skyrim. A High King is beholden to his Jarls, and I know many of them are unhappy with the Concordat. If another Moot were held tomorrow, do you think the Jarls would still back him? Or would they choose someone willing to take a stand to protect our forefather god?”

“I don’t want to be High King!” Hoag cried. “I’m loyal to Istlod!”

“Unless you disown me, he’s not going to see it that way,” Ulfric said grimly. “Blood ties outweigh even a Jarl’s oath of fealty, all true Nords know that. One way or another, you’ll need to make a stand. Father, I cannot force you. But please. For all of us here. For Talos-worshippers everywhere. For my beloved troth-plighted and our children. Please help stop a war. I don’t want to fight my kin.”

But he’d probably do it. Hoag closed his eyes, seeing no way out of this… because Ulfric was right. Istlod had been demanding updates already, wanting to know what the hell was going on in that province and did he need to intervene. How he’d react to learning Ulfric had broken his contract and sided with Madanach, Hoag had no idea. But he knew he wasn’t losing his son over it.

“Give me time to think on this,” Hoag said, looking up at Ulfric and taking the boy – no, man’s hand in his. “I need to see what manner of kingdom Madanach is running and what manner of man he is. When I’m well enough to walk, we’re taking a tour of the city, you and I, and talking to the people. We’ll see what they think of him. I’ll want to spend more time with the King himself as well. And I’ll need to talk with Balgruuf too, see what he thinks. Where is he anyway?”

“Back at Hroldan. He wanted to talk to the Sybil,” Ulfric told him. “I’m not sure he believes her power is real. Truth be told, I don’t even know. But it wasn’t Madanach’s doing either. My people will tell him that.”

“I look forward to hearing from him,” Hoag said, closing his eyes and feeling weariness creeping up on him. “Son, I’m tired. May I rest?”

“Of course,” Ulfric said, settling his father down and pulling the covers over him. Hoag closed his eyes, felt Ulfric kiss his forehead, heard the candle horn by the bed extinguished and Ulfric leave, door closing behind him.

Nothing in that conversation had eased Hoag’s fears. Ulfric had all the impetuous idealism of youth, all the determination his mother had had when she’d had her heart set on something, and his chosen course could lead them all to ruin.

And yet Hoag loved his son. Hoag Stormcloak took great pride in seeing his son happy, healthy and well. Hoag could even find time for the man who’d brought that about and saved his own life. 

If only it wasn’t destined to put him on a collision course with his own king, who Hoag had previously been unswervingly loyal to. And the worrying thing was, Hoag couldn’t swear that Istlod wouldn’t insist he disown his son or be counted an enemy of Skyrim in turn.

_Thalmor assassins in my own damn retinue, Talos only knows what they’re whispering in his ear._

Talos who’d allegedly manifested in the middle of Markarth and announced he was siding with the Reachmen too. It was too much to believe. So Hoag decided not to, not yet. He was going to be here for some time, it appeared. He could reserve judgement. So his rational self told him.

But Nords weren’t always sensible and Nords followed their hearts, and Jarl Hoag’s heart was already moving to protect his baby boy, already looking for reasons to justify going to Istlod and telling him he supported the Free Kingdom of the Reach.

Jarl Hoag had seen Ildi’s smile again, seen his son happy. He’d trade all Skyrim in a heartbeat to keep it that way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Ulfric closed the door behind him, closing his eyes as his back hit the solid bronze of the Dwemer door that was typical of the Keep. It reminded him of the solid steel doors of the Palace of the Kings. A home he might not see again, not for some time. Not safe enough. Not with Thalmor agents potentially still back there.

But his father was here. His father! Alive. Well. Going to be fine.

A father who loved him. Who, even if he didn’t quite approve of his choices, treasured his son.

_I’m not a disappointment. He’s worried, that’s all. He’s… proud of me._

The thought brought tears to Ulfric’s eyes even as he wanted to run down the Keep shouting for joy, then pick Madanach up and kiss him. The old fox had been right, damn him.

Ulfric had never been so pleased to be wrong.

Grinning, he opened his eyes… and the first thing he saw was Marquise Inga with her back against the far wall, arms folded, and for once not scowling at him. And next to her, young Argis. Who looked worried, and who promptly detached himself from his mother’s side and ran to Ulfric’s, wrapping his arms round his waist.

Ulfric still couldn’t get used to Madanach’s kids spontaneously running up to him and showing him affection like they did. He’d expected it to take time, effort, negotiation. In reality, all it had taken was Galmar effortlessly winning them over, then cheerfully encouraging them to ‘leap on Ulfric, he needs leaping on!’ Tentative and wary looks from the kids at this point, but their damn father had just grinned and backed up Galmar, and then Amaleen of all people had been the first to pounce. Her siblings had followed, and while once Ulfric might have hidden cluelessness around children behind swift anger intended to scare them off, he’d known enough to play along, drop and roll and dramatically pretend they’d beaten him. It was important to encourage their fierceness, yes?

The kids had abandoned formality around him ever since. He wasn’t Father, not yet, but he definitely wasn’t Thane Ulfric of Hroldan to the kids either. He was ‘Ulfric, I can’t find Ingrid!’ or ‘Ulfric, how do you spell Hrormir?’ or ‘did you really go all the way to the Imperial City, Ulfric? Is it bigger than Markarth?’ or ‘if Windhelm is Ysgramor’s city, why’s your da Jarl not him’ or ‘Uff’wic, Eifne threw Pinky in the waterfall!’ ‘it was an accident!’ ‘it totally wasn’t, Eith, you were showing off’ ‘I’m good at telekinesis, you distracted me!’

It wasn’t always a good thing, but the daring Rescue of Pinky made for a good story, he’d got a cuddle off a grateful Kaie, and he’d let Madanach deal with the inevitable talk on not using magic on her siblings’ things.

But Argis had always been a little more standoffish than the girls. A little more nervous. Quieter, although he’d had loads of questions on Nord history. Ysgramor, the City of Kings, the Return of the Five Hundred – Ulfric had been more than happy to share his knowledge. Seeing the boy lap it up had been its own reward. Outside of that though, he’d been a little more guarded. Wary. Seeking Ulfric out but not entirely sure what to make of him. Ulfric hadn’t known exactly what to do about it either, but he’d been friendly and encouraged Argis to talk to him.

Now here he was spontaneously cuddling him. Ulfric had not expected that but it was bringing warmth to his heart, so he cuddled the boy back.

“Everything all right, little cub?” Ulfric murmured, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“Is your da in there?” Argis said, glancing at the door. “When can I meet him?”

Nine, Ulfric had no idea. He’d just about got his father up to speed with him and Madanach, and he wasn’t convinced he was still in line for the Throne of Kings himself any more.

“Soon, little one. Have patience. He’s not a young man and he was injured.”

“Yeah, and Da’s magic saved him, so he should be all right soon,” Argis said, confused. “Right, Ma?”

“Argis, the Jarl’s not a young man,” Inga sighed. “He can’t just get up and run back into a fight. He needs to rest. But he’ll be up and about eventually. We can all meet him then.”

“Maybe before then,” Ulfric said, thinking perhaps Argis needed introducing sooner rather than later. “Need to introduce him to his future grandson, don’t I, little bear?”

Argis’s eyes widened and he clung on tighter to Ulfric.

“Do you think he’ll like me,” Argis whispered. “I mean, will he be all right with me being Jarl one day?”

So that was what was bothering the lad. No wonder he was worried. He was after all the one who’d specifically been named in the Stormcloak-Reachman peace accord. He must be afraid the current Jarl wouldn't like him.

Ulfric carefully knelt down, wondering how to explain the situation… and then decided best place to start with was the truth.

“After all this, I am no longer entirely sure he is all right with _me_ being Jarl one day. I did after all break a contract, side with an enemy of Skyrim, and I’m using the Exiled God to do it. He doesn’t entirely approve.”

Argis gasped, and then he was scowling, looking very much like his father.

“But you stopped! You let the city eat again! You said you were sorry and stopped, and now you’re helping look after us and making Da happy! Jarl Hoag can’t be angry at you for that!”

Bless the boy for defending him. Ulfric cuddled him again and kissed the top of his head, grateful for his not-yet-son’s support.

“I don’t believe he actually wants to disown me. But he may not have a choice. King Istlod might force him. I don’t know what he’d do in that situation. But we are not there yet, young Argis. Have no fear. I’ll formally introduce you tomorrow and we’ll see about showing him what the Reach is really like. He might find it harder to turn his back on us once he’s met his grandchildren.”

Argis cheered up immediately and cuddled Ulfric, kissing him on the cheek then going a bit pink and running back to his mother. Who also looked surprised… but pleased as she put an arm around her son.

“Well now, you’ve spoken to Ulfric, are you ready to go home now?” Inga asked gently. Argis nodded, and Inga motioned to her bodyguard Arnbjorn to detach from the shadows and take Argis away.

“Wait for me by the Keep entrance, I want to talk to Ulfric for a moment,” Inga said, and as Arnbjorn left with Argis, Inga turned back to him, her smile fading. Clearly she wasn’t as reassured as her son had been.

“Marquise. Is everything all right?” Ulfric asked, knowing he owed her an explanation. She had a city to think of after all, and while Madanach made the official decisions and Nepos handled all the administration, the people of Markarth had come to see her as their official representative to the Mournful Throne. Small wonder they wanted to know what was going on. Nepos had stood down the military alert but people were probably still worried.

“I don’t know, you tell me!” Inga sighed. “Thalmor spies, not one Jarl arriving but two, everything in an uproar and half the city wanting to know if Skyrim’s invading or if the Empire are going to declare war… I keep telling them Madanach has it all in hand and talks are ongoing like Nepos said to, but I don’t know what’s actually going to happen!”

“Nor does anyone else,” Ulfric said ruefully. “Keep reassuring the people. If it helps, my father wants to tour the city as soon as he’s well enough. Tell the people they might get to meet a Jarl.”

“That… might give them something to think about,” Inga said thoughtfully. “If they’re going from worrying about the Legion invading to worrying about not looking like an idiot in front of a Jarl, that’s at least something I can actually help with. Let me know when this happens, I’ll introduce you to people. I think Argis will want to come as well. He’s been worrying about whether your father will approve of him – well, you saw him.”

“He’s more than welcome to come,” Ulfric promised. “I have not told my father about Argis yet, but I will. I think he’ll want to meet him when he learns I’m making Argis my heir.”

“I hope so, my son the Jarl was the only reason I went along with this in the first place,” Inga said, frowning. “Well, he’s your father. I’ll trust you know how to persuade him. I just hope this works out. For all our sakes.”

Inga turned to leave, then glanced over her shoulder at Ulfric.

“You know, my son’s become very fond of you. The girls seem to be warming to you as well. Congratulations on convincing the kids you’re a good man. I must admit, I’m pleased. Six months ago, we were living in the Warrens and Argis only had one parent. Now we’re living in a proper house and he has three of them. I’m grateful, Ulfric. But just remember one thing. You’re part of the Reach Court now. We’re not on the same side as the Jarls until a treaty’s signed. Father or no.”

“Understood,” Ulfric said quietly. Inga might never warm to him. But that was all right. Madanach loved him. His father, it turned out, loved and approved of him. He was even in the process of acquiring several loving children. And that was enough for Ulfric.

He had a family. He’d learned how to be happy again. And no High King, no Empire, was taking this from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Delphine had left Hoag with his son, knowing this was something the two needed to talk out alone. Even if part of her treasured the few precious moments with him that she had left. Going back to Eastmarch with him was out of the question now.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, that she’d been the one to bring danger on him in the first place. But she guessed this was her life now. Being hunted. Constantly having to look over her shoulder. Be unable to trust or open up to anyone in case they got killed… or turned out to be Thalmor themselves.

How ironic that one of the few people she believed not to be was King Madanach of the Reach, the murdering usurper who all Skyrim presently saw as public enemy number one, a backstabbing traitor who’d taken advantage of the war to further his own ambitions.

But the Thalmor hadn’t helped him against Ulfric, and he’d been the one to expose their own agents in Hoag’s retinue. Whatever part the Thalmor played in getting him into power, they likely hadn’t intended for it to continue. A rogue state that was a law unto itself wouldn’t suit their agenda, especially if that state wielded magic as well as they did.

Perhaps it was worth hearing what the Reach-King had to say. Calculated attempt to win her over it may have been – but he’d at least tried to comfort her.

Movement from the shadows near the empty throne, and a man appeared. Older, balding, long nose… Delphine had heard word of a man called Nepos the Nose. This could only be him.

“Excuse me, ma’am, am I speaking with Delphine? The King has told me all about you. Allow me to introduce myself – I would be his steward, Nepos the Nose. I believe we can be of service to one another.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Nepos led her to his quarters, and it turned out he wasn’t alone. Dressed in brown leather armour was another woman – a Dunmer with strange purple eyes, who was on her feet immediately.

“Nepos, what is this? She was with Jarl Hoag, she’s his spymistress!” the elf cried. “She can’t see me!”

“Calm yourself, Karliah, the King believes she can help and I agree,” Nepos said, indicating for Delphine to take a seat. “Now then. Delphine, this is Karliah, one of the Reach’s finest. It was her warnings that alerted us to our Nord guests… and that there might be traitors in their midst.”

“I know illusions when I see them,” Karliah said, grudgingly sitting back down again. “So yes, I warned Madanach to dispel them. Wasn’t expecting assassins, and I wasn’t expecting them to go for the spymistress. So you’re a Blade then.”

Sympathy in Karliah’s eyes, and Delphine wondered if she was a former Blade herself. She’d not heard the name before, but all her experience had been in Cyrodiil and Valenwood. She wouldn’t know a Skyrim agent.

“Yes,” Delphine said shortly. “And if that information leaves this room...”

“It won’t,” Nepos said, hastily intervening. “Karliah here has her own enemies, and it looks like the actions of one of them has hurt all of us. Now, we in the Reach hadn’t had the chance to form a plan of action yet, and Karliah’s name’s been smeared to the extent she can’t go back there. But they don’t know you at all. Want to stay one step ahead of the Thalmor, Delphine? How about you infiltrate an underground organisation, get a certain artefact off its leader and get it to us? Or specifically, Karliah here. She’ll take care of the rest.”

“Wait, Nepos, we never discussed this!” Karliah gasped. “I told you this in confidence and you tell an outsider this?!”

“Because we need an outsider!” Nepos snapped, kindly old uncle facade dropping as soon as it was no longer needed. “You’re burned in that city, I don’t have the skillset among my own people to anything like the degree required and I don’t want the Reach connected to this… but a Blades agent in need of help might be what we need! And don’t tell me this is just your quest. If you’re right, and the First Matriarch and her sisters all seem to think you are, this affects anyone who works in the shadows. Thieves. Assassins. Blades agents. Reachman agents. We need that conduit restored and our luck back, Karliah, and now we’re no longer under siege, it’s about time we did something about it.”

Karliah had stared at Nepos throughout, various degrees of shocked and furious, and Delphine honestly didn’t think Karliah agreed with this at all… but then Karliah turned and stared at her, clearly sizing her up.

“It… might be beneficial to have eyes in Riften,” Karliah finally said. “I don’t expect you to actually succeed in getting this artefact off the target… but it might make my plans easier to execute.”

“And the target is – wait. Riften? Are you – do you want me infiltrating the Thieves Guild!?” Delphine cried. “Are you out of your mind? I’m not a thief!”

“No, you’re a spy and correct me if I’m wrong but that often involves breaking the law,” Nepos said, steepling his fingers as he watched from across the table. “Joining the Guild also means you’ll have access to their safe houses, information, contacts, fences… all things that can keep you one step ahead of the Thalmor. And if you can help retrieve this artefact, all your fellow fugitives might find their luck improving too.”

“Might help you on a more personal level too,” Karliah said thoughtfully. “I know the Hold intimately. I know Clan Black-Briar have been Guild patrons for years and that the new head of the family, young Maven, is continuing in that tradition. She’s also Harrald Law-Giver’s mistress, and has strong connections to the Empire… and the Thalmor. She’ll resist any attempt by Jarl Harrald to stand against King Istlod. My plans for undercutting Mercer require undermining her first. Get rid of Maven and without her influence, Harrald might be more willing to join a no confidence motion against King Istlod. If Istlod’s replaced as High King by someone who’ll tell the Empire where to go… you could go home to Windhelm.”

Go back to Windhelm. Not live in fear – not as much fear anyway. Able to live openly as Hoag’s lover – maybe more?

“All right,” Delphine said, relishing the thought of something to actually do. “What’s the job?”

Karliah began to explain, a story of treachery, murder… and the Daedric Prince Nocturnal and her Nightingales. Delphine listened… and couldn't help but find it fascinating.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Ulfric returned to the bedchamber to find it empty… apart from Madanach sitting at the dining table nursing a shot of sparkling jenever. On seeing Ulfric, he got to his feet immediately and went over to him, arms around him and squeezing him tight.

“Are you all right?” Madanach murmured. “How’s your da doing?”

Ulfric took Madanach in his arms, pulling his lover close like he’d wanted to do the entire carriage ride back to the city, like he’d wanted to do all evening, just holding him close and feeling him there, connecting with the man who made his heart sing just to look upon.

“He’s going to be fine,” Ulfric said, smiling at the thought. “I think he might just support us. He told me he’s always loved me, he just didn’t want me to get hurt. Apparently I remind him of Mother.”

Madanach looked up, staring intently at him, tilting Ulfric’s face this way and that.

“I can see that, you know,” Madanach said quietly. “I guess she died before you remember her, because you never talk about her. But having seen you next to your da – I think you look like her, you know. Must have been hard for him, watching his son grow up looking just like his dead wife. Da had that problem with Keirine. He dealt with it though. Mostly by admitting it and making sure Keirine knew why he got sad sometimes.”

Ulfric said nothing to that, only pulling Madanach closer, because no one had ever talked much about his mother while he was growing up. He’d not even had a picture or anything. Just a lock of hair in a locket. It was the same colour as his. Turned out Madanach’s father in the same situation and without a Jarl’s court at his disposal had made sure his kids knew rather more.

It was funny, up until now Ulfric had wondered, but never really felt it as a loss. You couldn’t miss what you’d never had – but she had existed. Ildi Stormcloak had been a real woman who’d carried him, named him, looked forward to his birth, wondered what he’d be like, was apparently more like him than anyone else on Nirn. She’d held him, named him, loved him, and then she’d been gone.

_Would I have spent my entire life feeling so alone if she’d lived._

Of course not. Whether she’d approve of all this was another matter. But it was how it was. And he had Madanach now. He had children of his own to protect. He wasn’t alone any more. He just wished his mother could have been alive to share in it all.

Kissing Madanach’s forehead, Ulfric squeezed him and glanced around the room, wondering why Madanach was alone.

“The children aren’t up?” Ulfric asked, a little surprised to see only Eola sleeping in her cradle and none of the others.

Madanach let him go, sensing Ulfric was feeling perhaps a little too vulnerable and accepting the subject change. Detaching himself and taking a seat, he nudged some mead in Ulfric’s direction.

“Didn’t know how long you were likely to be, and it was past Kaie’s bedtime already,” Madanach said, returning to his own shotglass. “Eithne and Amaleen are getting some rest too. Been a long day for us all. You should know they’re worried. Argis too.”

“I know, I ran into him and Inga,” Ulfric said, taking a seat and reaching for the mead so thoughtfully left out for him. “He’s scared my father won’t like him. I don’t think he need worry. I’m more concerned the High King will force my father to disown me or surrender his Jarldom.”

“Can he do that?” Madanach asked, eyebrows shooting up. 

“Yes,” Ulfric said, not really wanting to contemplate the possibility but knowing it was there. “He’d have little difficulty painting it as treason against the Empire. He could call the Legion in against Eastmarch if the other Jarls backed him.”

“Do they?” Madanach asked, needing to know the answer to that one. Nord politics wasn’t exactly a specialist area for him, but he had a feeling he’d need to learn. Ulfric glanced up and grinned.

“No. They do not. We’ve been dealing with Dengeir already, and I know Skald’s angry about the Concordat. They might stand against him. Also the Jarl of Winterhold’s my aunt. She doesn’t get on well with my father, blames him for my mother’s death. But she always had time for me. She’s no great fan of magic, but her Hold could do with money. If the Reach considers investing in her Hold, I might be able to persuade her this is in all our interests yet.”

“I’ll talk to Nepos,” Madanach promised. “We might be able to do something. Winterhold has that College, right? I wouldn’t mind getting inside that. All right, so we’ve got Winterhold as a definite maybe, Dawnstar and Falkreath as probable yeses, Jarl Balgruuf’s right here in the Reach to work on, your da too and we’re definitely introducing him to the cute children, right?”

“We are, I already promised Argis and I see no reason he can’t meet the girls either,” Ulfric said, feeling strangely lightheaded already. Might this actually work?

“Just leaves the Rift as the last big Hold,” Madanach said, recalling the map of Skyrim he’d found among Hrolfdir’s things. “Think Harrald’ll join us?”

“Hardly, he’s got that Thalmor-loving Black-Briar bitch wrapping him round her little finger,” Ulfric snorted, before realising he was drinking her mead and feeling vaguely traitorous. “But he also used to worship Talos back in the day. If we could get rid of her...”

To his surprise, Madanach glanced up, grinning broadly.

“I hoped you’d say that. Turns out one of my agents has a grudge to settle, and your da’s lady friend’s now got needs, and skills we can use. It also turns out all of this is going to involve undermining Maven Black-Briar’s business. Seeing as the Reach could use some legitimate front businesses in Skyrim, and we now have a political interest in undercutting Maven Black-Briar, I’ve decided to authorise the plan. Ulfric, my darling, my love, my precious Stormbear. I don’t get you nearly enough presents.”

Madanach had got up, smiling rather seductively, and moved round to perch on Ulfric’s lap, arms round him and nuzzling his cheek. Which was very nice, but Ulfric was suspicious of the sudden change of mood.

“You got me a fine shield, the blessing of my god, the knowledge my father isn’t ashamed of me and healing from what the elves did to me, you have given me more than any man could ask, beloved,” Ulfric murmured back. “You do not need to shower me with riches as well.”

“I was thinking of setting you up in the meadery business, my love,” Madanach whispered. “Now that we’re boycotting Black-Briar, we need alternatives. Some of your men who hail from Falkreath originally have been petitioning me to send juniper to Vilod of Helgen for his juniper mead, and my sources also tell me of a man in Whiterun called Sabjorn who’s got a gift for brewing but needs investors to get his business off the ground. No one in Skyrim wants to cross the Black-Briars, but it turns out we need to. Investment in both businesses in your name to flood the market with serious competition to Maven’s brew, what do you say?”

The profits from that could pay his own investors back all the sooner.

“I’d say I needed a ready mead supply for my men anyway,” Ulfric laughed, taking Madanach’s face in his hands. “Make the arrangements. I’m not afraid of Maven Black-Briar. Not with you by my side.”

Madanach grinned and reached out to him, lips meeting Ulfric’s as Ulfric’s arm slid under his knees, and then Ulfric was getting to his feet, shaking a little under Madanach’s weight but managing to carry him, moving commendably fast to the bed before dropping him on it, gasping for breath. 

Madanach fell back onto the covers, gasping as Ulfric climbed on top of him.

“What does it say about me that whenever you start plotting things, I just want you even more,” Ulfric growled in his ear.

Madanach laughed, pulling him down for a kiss.

“I’d say it’s your lucky day, because it looks like you’ve got me,” Madanach breathed and Ulfric smiled, kissing him fiercely before rolling over so Madanach was on top.

“You truly are the greatest treasure I have ever known,” Ulfric told him, gazing up at Madanach as tracing a finger over his lips. “I told my father as much and meant it. My place is with you, my heart. No matter what he says.”

Something in Madanach’s face shifted, eyes widening and eyebrows lifting and lips pouting as something in him shifted, some emotion that hadn’t been there before, or not on show anyway.

“You really mean that,” Madanach whispered. “You really have told your father I’m the best thing to ever happen to you.”

Ulfric nodded, stroking Madanach’s cheek.

“Yes, beloved, I did say that. Because it is true.”

A little whimpering noise came from Madanach’s throat as his lips lifted in a smile.

“Really?” he whispered. “You really think that?”

“Yes,” Ulfric said, not bothering to hide the grin because the way his love could swing from all-powerful King of the Reach to nervous and emotionally tongue-tied was really rather endearing. Particularly when nerves turned into the happiest smile he’d ever seen on the man.

“I love you too,” Madanach gasped, reaching up to wipe at one eye. “I was scared to say it before, but earlier today… when I saw your father fall, I couldn't help but go to him because I knew you’d be heartbroken if he died. And when you were upset, I couldn’t keep away from you, I had to go and make sure you were all right. And when I was talking to Balgruuf earlier, I called you my Ulfric without even thinking about it. Because you are. You’re my Ulfric and I love you.”

Ulfric hadn’t until that moment realised how much of his emotions had been tied up in waiting to hear Madanach say that back. Tears in his own eyes as he pulled Madanach to him and kissed him, feeling Madanach respond and delighting in the breathless gasps and moans coming from him.

Breaking off and pressing his forehead to Madanach’s, Ulfric smiled as he felt all his anxieties and fears fade away. Madanach loved him. Really truly loved him. Ulfric didn’t think he’d ever felt so happy.

“And now I need fear nothing,” Ulfric announced proudly. “I feared no foe in open combat, but I feared the knife in the shadows, the threat I did not see coming. I feared being retaken by the Thalmor. Now I fear neither of those things. Because no one will stab me in the back if you are there watching me, and should I be taken prisoner, I know you will come for me.”

“I promise I’ll rescue you,” Madanach said, fingers trailing across his cheek. “Although I think you’re a little too optimistic about my skills in counter-espionage.”

“If a man as cunning as you does not see it coming, no one can,” Ulfric whispered, planting kisses on Madanach’s neck that turned into bites and nibbles, making Madanach shiver with delight, moaning as Ulfric’s teeth grazed his skin. One particularly hard bite at the base of the neck, and Ulfric knew Madanach would be marked the following day. Hideable by either torc or robes, but there.

Madanach cried out and glared down at Ulfric, knowing full well what his lover had just done.

“Am I going to have to sit there tomorrow talking to your da with a goddamn lovebite on my neck,” Madanach said softly, viciously, in a way that made Ulfric’s cock throb.

“Yes,” Ulfric said, grinning. “Marking you turns me on, Rhan-Brenin. I like knowing the most powerful man in the kingdom is walking around with marks from me on his skin.”

Madanach said nothing to that, face muscles barely moving as he sat up and got off Ulfric, silver eyes staring coldly down at him, never breaking eye contact throughout.

“Turn the fuck over and get on your front, for every mark you leave on me, you’re getting three in return,” Madanach growled. “And then I’m going to fuck your ass so hard, you’ll spent the entire rest of his visit here fielding awkward fucking questions about why you’re standing up the whole goddamn time!”

Ulfric couldn’t stop the moan coming from his mouth, because while Madanach the boy from the Warrens was reduced to mush by his lover spontaneously plucking poetry from the air for him, it turned out Ulfric Stormcloak the son of the Jarl who everyone was scrupulously polite to the whole time could not resist his lover hissing profanity-laden filth into his ear. He should probably call a halt to this on the grounds it was degrading and humiliating, but sadly for him, a big chunk of his brain knew this all too well and approved.

So Ulfric gave in, smile on his face because he knew he could handle the pain, especially from someone who cared enough to give him what he needed.

The most powerful man in the Reach, the charismatic, bright, talented and handsome Reach-King, loved him and would keep him safe forever. Ulfric closed his eyes and didn’t even attempt to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are turning into such a sweet couple to write, they really are. So, basically, Thieves Guild questline happening twenty five years sooner, Delphine in the Guild, Mournful Throne funding all the Black-Briar competitors and Ulfric gets to be CEO of Stormbrew Meaderies Inc. Politically, I have several different options, but if Istlod proves stubborn, the option of all the other Jarls calling for a new Moot and putting someone else in charge is there.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jarl Hoag's awake and in Markarth, and seeing for himself what the dreaded Witch Kingdom's like. Surprises abound, from Madanach's illegitimate child to the youngest child who proves Madanach should really still be in mourning... but isn't. The biggest surprise of all though turns out to be Ulfric himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is Hoag having a look round Markarth and coming to conclusions about what he's seeing. Including meeting Argis, who continues to be a really cute ten year old.

The next day brought Jarl Hoag insisting on getting out of bed and dressing, against Reachfolk medical advice and with Delphine telling him this was a bad idea. But he felt fine and he had things to do and he wasn’t going to do any of it from bed. So he sat up for breakfast, and took a seat by the fire, and waited for the first meeting of the day.

Galmar Stone-Fist. Here to explain just how in Oblivion this had happened.

“You’ll, er, be wanting my resignation then,” Galmar said, sounding forcibly cheerful. “Or my head, perhaps?”

It was tempting. But Galmar wasn’t ultimately responsible for this. Hoag knew that. Hoag also saw the guilt in Galmar’s eyes and knew Galmar didn’t know that.

“I know you’d never have suggested or supported this. I know my son, Galmar. I know he’s stubborn. But what I don’t know is how on Nirn this all came about. How is it my son went from fighting to overthrow Madanach to siding with him?”

“Honestly, Jarl, I’m not even sure myself,” Galmar admitted. “But here’s the story. As far as I know it.”

And so Hoag listened as Galmar explained how Ulfric had taken one look at Madanach and clearly lost his mind to love… or lust… or something… and hostilities had essentially ceased for the day, what with the Stormcloaks having suddenly experienced a drop in morale caused by their commander having lost his mind, and the Reachmen being too damn busy laughing. It might have been just a short break in hostilities, to resume more viciously the following day… but Madanach had initiated talks. Ulfric had gone to parley… and walked out, seething and refusing to talk about it. Galmar had thought that was it… until Ulfric disappeared out of camp that night. Galmar had found him gone, panicked, assumed him dead and started planning a revenge attack… until Ulfric had come back around dawn, ordering them all to stand down, he’d reached a peace deal. Galmar had been beside himself.

“I tried to talk him out of it,” Galmar ruefully admitted. “Pleaded with him not to, to offer up anything but himself to the Witch-King. But he wouldn't hear it. He actually smiled and said he saw no downside. Saw no-!”

Galmar sighed and looked down.

“Forgive me, Jarl. It was a shock for us all. I don’t know how many nights I spent worrying about what Madanach might do to him.”

“And do you still? Worry, that is,” Hoag asked, needing Galmar’s opinion on this. “Do you think Madanach’s going to hurt him or abuse him?”

An awkward pause, and then the man who’d sworn to serve and protect Ulfric Stormcloak to the death shook his head.

“No. I still don’t care for the man much, but he’s not all bad. And he’s been good for Ulfric. He’s laughing more. Smiling more. Less angry. Less formal. Although if I’m honest, that might be the kids. Difficult to take yourself too seriously when the four year old’s insisting on a piggy back, eh?”

Galmar laughed at his own words, then belatedly remembered who he was talking to and quietened down. Hoag found the image rather endearing himself.

“Madanach has children, doesn’t he? Ulfric did mention them. Tell me. Is he all right with them? Do they like him?” Because Ulfric had always been the type to take everything seriously, even as a child himself, and he’d never really played with other kids much. Hoag had seen him in Windhelm, keeping himself apart from ordinary folk, and while Hoag rather thought it was Ulfric’s own discomfort more than anything else, he couldn't see Ulfric relating naturally to children not even his.

And yet… Ulfric last night had referred to them as ‘our children’. As in, children he was raising with their father. Which meant he had to get on with them at least a little.

“Depends which one you ask,” Galmar laughed. “Eithne will claim she doesn’t, but keeps following him around regardless. I think they’ve established a base level of mutual respect. Eola’s too young to even know what’s going on, but he dotes on her anyway. Kaie didn’t like him at first but changed her mind – four year olds are fickle like that. Amaleen’s a cute little thing and it’s impossible not to like her. She thinks Ulfric’s the best. And Argis…”

Galmar stopped, glancing up at Hoag, suddenly looking guilty.

“Best if Ulfric explains that one to you. It’s not my place. But Argis seems to look up to him. Good thing, all things considered.”

Argis? That was a Nord name. A Nord boy’s name. Why would Madanach give his child a name like that? 

Hoag thanked Galmar and decided this was something to investigate further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Again, against both medical and Delphine’s advice, Jarl Hoag decided he was going for a walk in the city. Which led to much scurrying, and one of the healers shoving an amulet at Delphine.

“That setting summons a crash team for medical assistance. This one summons a squad of ReachGuard if you’re in trouble. Most members of the court have one. I suppose Thane Ulfric’s father shouldn't be about without one. I don’t want his son shouting at us.”

“And you’re giving it to me. Not him,” Delphine said, raising an eyebrow. The Reachwoman healer just grinned.

“We know Nords are stubborn, mistress. But you’re sensible. Call for help if needed, won’t you?”

Delphine promised she would and followed Hoag out. He was wearing court clothes rather than his armour, and Delphine was not OK with this at all… but he’d been wearing said armour when he’d been attacked and it hadn’t helped, and he wasn’t strong enough to be wearing full body armour yet. But Delphine had both Nords from Hoag’s retinue and some of Madanach’s people as back up, and Nepos had sent word ahead to the home of one Marquise Inga who was going to show them around.

Marquise Inga turned out to be a Nord woman in her thirties with a peasant’s accent rather than that of a polished noble, a preference for practical scaled armour rather than a fine dress… and a ten year old son with his mother’s hair and eyes, but cheekbones and a jawline more reminiscent of a Reach child. He’d definitely adopted more than a few Reachman elements for his outfit, mainly the sabre cat tooth necklace and the leather bracelets with beads and feathers attached. 

The boy turned out to be Argis and suddenly an awful lot became clear.

“And does his father live with you? If he still lives of course,” Hoag said, knowing what the answer to this would be.

“He lives,” Inga said shortly. “Kyne, I might as well tell you. Madanach is Argis’s father. We were lovers once a very long time ago, but Madanach left to go back to his own people. I’ve no desire to take him back. Argis and I live here now. Madanach said we weren’t going back to the Warrens now his wife was dead and he could acknowledge Argis as his, so we live here, and Argis is over at the Keep most days in lessons.”

“Except school’s cancelled cos we got important visitors,” Argis said, beaming. “Thanks, sir!”

“Argis!” Inga hissed, but Hoag had to laugh. Children wanting to get out of lessons – some things never changed.

_Apart from Ulfric, who loved learning and got upset when they got cancelled and didn’t play well with other kids. They kept picking on him._

Argis did not seem to have the same problem, and that cheered Hoag immensely. What did not cheer Hoag was Madanach having an illegitimate child in addition to his four legitimate girls. A child only recently acknowledged and lifted from poverty to nobility. One Galmar said Ulfric needed to tell him about. Interesting. Worth keeping the lad and his mother on side until he knew more. 

“Ah, a break from lessons will do the lad no harm,” Hoag said, patting Argis on the shoulder. “Now, it’s been years since I visited Markarth, how about you show me around? Have you always lived here?”

“Not always,” Inga sighed. “I used to live out in the hills, but it’s no place to raise a boy on your own. Not with all the Nord and Reachman fighting. Of course, that’s died down at least. Sometimes bandits or mercenaries show up out in the countryside, but I’ll give Ulfric his due, he’s very good at dealing with the problem.”

“Ulfric’s great!” Argis chipped in. “He can kill anything! I mean, he nearly killed Da when he invaded… but… he changed his mind? And now he and Da are friends! Well. They’re getting married. They keep cuddling and kissing the whole time.”

Argis scrunched his face up at the idea.

“You’re not fond of romance?” Hoag asked, amused. Argis shook his head.

“Not really. I mean, sort of? Girls are pretty, I suppose. And some of the boys too. But… I don’t know. Eithne wanted to marry me until she found out I was her brother, but I didn’t want to. Mainly cause she’s scary, but now she’s my sister it’s easier, you know? I can just like her without all the mushy stuff.”

“You knew Eithne before you knew Madanach was your father?” Hoag asked, surprised a princess would have been allowed to mix so freely with a commoner.

“Yeah, Da used to tour the city a lot,” Argis said. “I mean, the uprising was scary, you know? Lots of shouting and fighting, and Reachmen killing the guards. But the guards were mean to me and Ma anyway, so I didn’t mind much. Ma made me hide in our room during the fighting.”

“Which you didn’t do, you followed me out when I went to see what was going on,” Inga said tersely.

“Yeah, and I got to see the King!” Argis said, unrepentant. “He’s the best. And after the Jarl had gone and Da took over, he came to visit. Spent ages talking with Ma in private and after that things changed. He had people come down to make the Warrens nicer, and make some proper furniture for us all, and set up a clinic in the Keep and hired a tutor to give free lessons to the kids and brought books round. I mean, learning how to read sucked, and spelling’s hard! So’s holding a quill. But I can read books now! Still have to ask Eithne or Ulfric or Frabbi how to spell things though.”

“He couldn't read before?” Hoag asked, glancing sharply at Inga.

“No,” Inga said coldly, looking rather awkward. “I can barely concentrate on text myself, I could never teach him. Madanach managed that for him at least. And now I’ve got Frabbi to do all that for me.”

And Madanach had realised that, realised his son was living in poverty and decided to fix that. Maybe he’d have done that anyway. But the fact he’d improved an entire neighbourhood just so his son could have a better life… it boded well that that had been the preferred option. And as for Argis, Madanach’s son clearly loved his father, and the respect and admiration had predated knowing about the blood tie. Madanach had moved mountains to help his son flourish and the boy had been won over. Finding out the King was his father must have just solidified things. All the same, it couldn't have been easy being the King’s bastard, acknowledged or not. Hoag just bet Argis wasn’t in the succession. He wondered how the boy, or Inga for that matter, felt about that. What sort of future lay in store for a noble’s son who couldn't inherit.

Hoag put it to one side, following Inga as she led him out to the city. No time to ponder all this now. But he glanced at Delphine, who was also watching Argis thoughtfully. She clearly had opinions. They’d clearly need to talk. But perhaps later. 

For now, a tour of the city, from the treasury house now staffed by Reachman workers all employed to handle the steward’s business and pay all the workers in the various mines now owned by the Mournful Throne, to the renamed tavern called the Hag’s Rest, to the market, to the smithy, all over the city. Even the Temple of Dibella, where Inga introduced him to Sister Hamal, provider of mindhealing services to his son.

She was able to tell him that his son’s mental health had improved significantly over the time she’d been treating him, and while getting him to open up had been a challenge, he’d done so well and made so much progress, and these days it was no longer denying there was anything wrong with him but actively asking for parenting and relationship advice and worrying about Madanach.

Hoag had never thought he’d see the day. But it was a common refrain throughout the city. Mixed feelings about Ulfric initially. Fervent dislike in a few cases. More than a few people who’d feared Madanach as a ruler at some point too, or resented him spending so much money overhauling the poorer end of town. And yet, with both men, people were commenting just how things had changed over the past few weeks. How the Reach Court just seemed… friendlier. More open. Happier. How Madanach seemed less forbidding and more approachable. How Ulfric was actually all right for a Nord warrior and how clearly the invasion was a big misunderstanding. From the Nord citizens, how Ulfric was a fine and upstanding young man and the epitome of a Nord warrior, and how good it was to see someone standing up to the Empire over Talos worship. An Empire which few people now actually wished to rejoin, not now there’d been an agreement with the Nords.

From a few people, worry over how the Empire would react, and how Skyrim might react, but then people looking at him and saying ‘but you’re his da, right, you can talk Skyrim into, you know, not invading again, right?’

Hoag wished it were that simple… but he’d been a Jarl a long time, and he knew how Nord politics worked, and how Jarls got chosen, and that if there were an obvious heir to a Jarl, the Hold would by tradition choose them, barring questions of fitness to rule. But it was the Hold who chose the Jarl, there was no automatic right of inheritance… and they could unseat an existing Jarl if need be. Usually peacefully, but violence was not unheard of. Madanach’s methods had been extreme, but Skyrim law could recognise the takeover if sufficient justification existed. Madanach had successfully raised an army from within the Reach, taken over and held it, and it looked very much like the people of Markarth had accepted it and were happy with the situation. Madanach ruled, but with a Nord consort and a Nord noble to represent the citizenry’s concerns, people weren’t agitating for the High King to return and install a Nord Jarl.

In short, there was a case to be made that the Hold had chosen their new ruler, and Madanach was now the lawful equivalent of Jarl of the Reach. And Jarls weren’t actually obliged to give their fealty to the current High King or Queen on taking power, although most usually did. Most wouldn’t want to risk a war… but Madanach had his Reachman forces and now had the Stormcloak militia as well. Who’d already helped repel a few other mercenary forces who’d thought to try their luck invading a rogue state with money. At least the Companions had announced they weren’t taking any jobs in the Reach until the situation was resolved politically. It was something.

Hoag decided a final decision could wait until he’d had a chance to talk to Balgruuf, but he was starting to wonder if perhaps this might work out after all. It remained to be seen what Istlod would think, of course. Skyrim law might actually side with Madanach, but politics might trump law yet.

And so, tour concluded, Hoag went back to his bedroom, ostensibly for an afternoon nap, but in reality, he needed to think… and talk things over with his clever Blademistress.

“You’re not going to get any sleep after drinking that, you know,” Delphine observed as she watched Hoag down an entire stamina bottle. “Unless you had something else in mind, of course.”

“I need the use of a sharp mind and a clear head,” Hoag said, settling down on the bed and removing his boots. “Although I wouldn’t say no to the other if you’re offering. I’d rather talk first though.”

“I’d say you’re not quite ready for that anyway,” Delphine said, removing her own boots and sliding into bed, cuddling alongside him. “But talk away, love. You have thoughts, don’t you.”

Hoag did and he shared them, finishing with explaining that seeing as the city were in favour of Madanach as King with Ulfric as consort, and that Madanach was no foreign invader but a man born in Markarth who’d raised an army from within the Hold, it could definitely be said the Hold had effectively chosen him as Jarl. Which meant he could choose to pledge his fealty to anyone he liked. And if he preferred to call himself King instead of Jarl and pledge fealty to no one, that was his prerogative, as long as the Hold backed it. Which it clearly did.

“That might actually be the case,” Delphine said, sounding impressed. “Of course, Istlod might not see it that way. Your thoughts on persuading him?”

“Talos, I don’t know, lass,” Hoag sighed. “And the Empire won’t see it that way. They’ll want those mines back. Istlod just lets a Hold go, and it sets a dangerous precedent. Plus he has Igmund as a refugee in his court. He’s not going to be easy to persuade.”

“And if he says no?” Delphine asked quietly. “If you keep your own oath of fealty, you’d have to stand by while Istlod denounces your son a traitor and tries to kill him. Can you live with that?”

“No more than I can live with you going on the run and disappearing out of my life,” Hoag growled, pulling Delphine closer. “If Istlod says no… I withdraw my own fealty. I have no choice. But going it alone is dangerous, I know. I’d need allies. Fortunately, I think we have them. Dengeir, Skald, probably Fura, Harrald if your little plan works out. Five Jarls all declaring no confidence in the High King means a new Moot. Istlod loses, his successor recognises the Reach as a free kingdom and signs a treaty… and tells the Empire to shove it if they don’t like it. If we’re no longer part of the Empire, Talos worship’s legal again and we can clamp down on Thalmor movements. Meaning you, my love, can come back to Windhelm.”

“That’s a lot of ifs,” Delphine commented, but she was smiling as she leaned up to kiss his cheek. “But it’s something the Thalmor might not be expecting. I think they wanted a divided Skyrim and a protracted war. I think they wanted Ulfric martyred for Talos worship. I don’t think they were expecting a new rallying cry, and I don’t think they intended for you to be around to support him. You know, aside from Istlod, you’re the longest serving Jarl. The others all look up to you. This might actually work. But… it’ll weaken the Empire.”

“It’s already weak,” Hoag sighed. “I’m glad it survived but… part of me wonders if its time is done. There’s no more of the Septim line, no Dragonborn to rally round. We might be better off operating as an allied network of free states than vassals of Titus Mede.”

“Maybe,” Delphine whispered. She kissed his cheek, clearly thinking all this over, and then she smiled. “Well. I’d better sort Riften out for you, eh? Don’t worry. This is what I do. I’m trained for this.”

Hoag knew, just as he was trained for operating in Nord politics. All the same, none of this was going to be easy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A few hours later, and Hoag woke up to knocking on the door. Delphine was already out of bed, hastily pulling her clothes on and brushing herself down, managing to look impeccable in seconds before opening the door to where Ulfric was standing in a hybrid of a Nord’s scaled armour and a Reachman kilt, complete with feathered pauldrons and a leather cape, and most curious of all, a child on his back, in a tiny version of Reachguard gear and clutching a pink rabbit.

“Delphine, hello,” Ulfric said, smiling. “We’re about to have tea and I was wondering if you both wanted to join us...” His eyes fell on Hoag, still in bed, and his cheeks flushed pink.

“I can come back,” Ulfric said, realising correctly that said afternoon nap had turned into an afternoon something else, and truly not ready to deal with his father having a sex life again. 

“Oh, I think your father was just about done resting anyhow,” Delphine said quickly. “Who’s the kid?”

Grateful for a distraction, Ulfric knelt down and let the child dismount. The child in question looked about four, had bright silver eyes like Madanach’s and odd silvery hair poking out from under her Reach head gear. 

“This little monkey is Kaie,” Ulfric said affectionately. “Who was a little wary of me at first, but is now warming to me. It turns out regular rides round the Keep are an acceptable means of earning Kaie’s friendship.”

Kaie giggled, clutching her bunny.

“Yes! I’m a monkey!” A pause and then the inevitable. “What’s a monkey?”

“Small furry tree-dwelling creatures from Cyrodiil and Valenwood,” Delphine told her. “They’ve got hands and feet a bit like humans, and long tails, and a reputation for getting into trouble.”

“Such as stealing hardworking Legionnaires’ rations,” Ulfric added, shaking his head at the memory. “And coinpurses. As if a monkey has any use for my coinpurse! I swear the Thieves Guild were training them.”

“Quite possibly,” Delphine remarked. Kaie giggled and then cuddled Ulfric.

“I promise not to steal your lunch, Uff’wic!”

“Good, Nana Ildene overfeeds you all as it is,” Ulfric said, amused. “Speaking of which, we are about to have tea, which is the evening meal, and do not be fooled by the name. It will be drinks of tea, and enough food to feed a small army. Inga and Argis are already waiting, as is Galmar who is minding Eithne and Amaleen for me, and Madanach will be joining us as soon as he’s fed the little one. We’d like to have you join us. Unless you’re in need of more rest, of course.”

Ulfric’s tone of voice gave away all too well what he really meant by rest.

“We would happy to join you and little Kaie and the others,” Hoag said, deciding the best means of preserving dignity was to pretend nothing was amiss. “Just… give me a chance to get dressed, won’t you, son?”

“I will,” Ulfric promised. “Come on, little monkey. Do you want to be first to tell your siblings Jarl Hoag of Windhelm’s coming for tea?”

“Yes!” Kaie cried, practically bouncing… and then she looked at Hoag, curious.

“Are you really Ulfric’s daddy?” Kaie asked, wide-eyed. Hoag nodded.

“Yes, lass. Surprised?”

Kaie looked a bit nervous then asked her next question.

“Is he in trouble?” Kaie asked, suddenly looking a bit scared. “I don’t want him to be in trouble, I like him! Daddy likes him!”

“I know he does, lass,” Hoag said gently. “And he’s not in trouble with me. Might be in trouble with the High King, but I’ll see if I can talk him out of doing anything rash.”

Kaie beamed, chirped a thank you, before glancing at Ulfric and asking if she could go and tell the others now, and Ulfric told her she could. Kaie promptly scampered out of the room, and Ulfric would have followed… but he’d heard that last sentence and had to wonder.

“Does that mean… we have your blessing?” Ulfric asked, curious. “You’ll really speak to Istlod?”

“Means I’m not disowning you, lad,” Hoag said quietly, feeling a weight come off his shoulders. “Not for falling in love. Road ahead won’t be easy, mind. But you’re still my boy.”

Ulfric beamed, fist to his chest as he inclined his head.

“And you my father,” Ulfric said quietly. “Thank you!”

Ulfric left after that, and then it was getting dressed, and making his way down the Keep’s long hallways. Tea was happening at a table near the Mournful Throne itself, where Galmar, Ulfric and Marquise Inga were supervising four children, including Kaie, Argis, and two girls who must be Eithne and Amaleen.

And at the head of the table was the Reach-King himself, grinning down at the bright-eyed baby on his lap.

Hoag saw the child and went still as he realised that Eola the youngest was not a toddler of around 18 months or so, but a small baby who wasn’t even six months old. Madanach’s wife wasn’t even a year dead?? 

No one had told him _that_ before. In fact barely anyone had mentioned her at all, and the court didn’t seem to be in mourning.

“Good afternoon, Jarl Hoag,” Madanach called cheerfully. “We were about to eat, join us!”

Hoag approached, eyes not leaving the baby. Taking a seat next to his son, he made a note to get some answers off him later. This conversation was not one to be had in front of the children.

“Eithne, Amaleen, Argis, Kaie,” Madanach announced, pointing the children out. “I think you’ve met some of them already. They’ve all been asking lots of questions.”

Hoag imagined so. It turned out none of the girls had seen a Jarl before. They’d been raised on Forsworn camps. There were a lot of questions. But a lot of the questions seemed to focus on Ulfric. All of them wanting to know what he was like, and what he’d been like as a boy, and what Windhelm was like, and when Ulfric’s mama was coming to visit.

Awkward silence, and then Ulfric spoke.

“She died, lass. When I was a baby. They tell me she was kindhearted. I think you would have liked her.”

“You don’t remember her?” Amaleen whispered, shocked. Ulfric shook his head. 

“No. I was only a baby. I wish I did. But we can’t change the past. Besides, I still have my father. Also, I have your father to keep me company now.”

Ulfric took Madanach’s hand and squeezed it, the two of them exchanging a smile, and in Madanach’s other arm, Eola squealed, beaming at Ulfric.

“She seems to like you,” Hoag observed, wondering what they’d tell Eola about her own mother. Had she died due to giving birth like Ildi had? Having seen Reach medicine in action, Hoag had a suspicion that wasn’t the case (and Ildi might have lived if she’d admitted how ill she was sooner).

“Yes, and I am very fond of her too,” Ulfric said, smiling. Then he glanced up at him, and Hoag had a feeling that Ulfric knew, Ulfric could tell Hoag was not comfortable with this situation. Ulfric was holding out his arms to Eola, asking Madanach if he could hold her, and Madanach nodded and handed her over. 

Hoag had never seen his son interact with a baby before, and was surprised to see Ulfric pull the baby to his chest, kissing Eola’s forehead and whispering a greeting to her. Eola squealed and snuggled into Ulfric’s fur gear.

Ulfric cuddled her then looked up, eyes meeting his father’s, defiant as ever.

“Eola was the first child of Madanach’s I had the pleasure of meeting,” Ulfric said calmly. “The second time I came to parley with her father. I’d turned up unannounced and he did me the courtesy of agreeing to see me anyway.”

“He turned up uninvited in the middle of the night, demanding to see me,” Madanach added, grinning. “Good thing I was awake anyway, feeding Eola. Honestly, Ulfric, just count yourself lucky you’re cute.” 

The children giggled, Galmar also seeming to find this amusing, and Ulfric didn’t even seem offended.

“We talked of many things, including his earlier offer of marriage and peace in exchange for free Talos worship in the Reach, and things from the war that set me on this path,” Ulfric said, still smiling fondly down at Eola. “I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing, or if I could trust him. But one thing I did see all too clearly, and that was that Eola’s mother was dead, killed by one of my soldiers, and with famine stopping the wet-nurse’s milk and having claimed the lives of the city’s livestock, Eola was likely to follow her… unless I agreed terms and withdrew my troops. Father, I know now I made the right decision, but at the time, I had no idea. All I knew was that if the siege continued, Eola wouldn't make it… but if I made peace, she had a fighting chance. In the end, that was what decided me, and daily I give thanks to the Nine this little one made it. She is as dear to me now as if she was my own. In many ways, she is my own. My actions claimed her mother’s life, and my penance for that is providing the care Queen Mireen is no longer here to provide.”

To Hoag’s surprise, Madanach actually winced, and he turned to Amaleen and Kaie.

“Sorry about this, girls, the rest of this conversation isn’t for your ears. I’m sorry, little ones. You’ll be able to hear again in a few minutes.”

One illusion spell later, and Amaleen and Kaie were both rubbing their ears, Kaie in particular looking rather annoyed at her father.

Madanach rather apologetically conjured golden letters spelling the word “S-O-R-R-Y” for them, then gave the letters wings and made them start circling round the girls, which distracted Kaie at least.

“I make a point of at least trying to get my kids’ agreement to things before making them do them, and apologise when that’s not possible,” Madanach said apologetically. “I probably have to make it up to them later, but it’s better than the alternative. Which is hearing their father tell an entire table of people that their mother was an evil harridan who the world, the Reach, this city and my family are all better off without. She gave me four children and a decade’s worth of abuse, and while I’m still recovering from the experience, in no way am I mourning. I’m free to marry again, and I am doing it, this time with someone who’s actually got human emotions. That answer the question you were going out of your way not to ask but were absolutely thinking, Jarl?”

Madanach reached for his drink and downed the remainder of his wine, clearly shaken, and Ulfric reached out to take his hand. And then Eithne, the child not included in the muffling spell, got up from her seat, ran round the table and cuddled her father. Madanach kissed her forehead and held her to him, pointedly glaring at Hoag.

Well, Hoag had not expected that answer. No wonder no one mentioned her. No wonder Madanach had moved on surprisingly quickly and bore no grudge against Ulfric for his wife’s death. Seems like Ulfric had done Madanach a favour. He’d certainly done Argis a favour… and it seemed Eithne was old enough to know her mother was the problem and that being raised by just her father was a much better experience.

“I… yes,” Hoag admitted. “I am sorry for your experiences, Madanach. I hope my son can go some way to making things better for you.”

Madanach’s stance softened and he nodded, smiling as he dispelled the illusion magic and let his younger daughters back into the conversation.

“I’m very glad to have him here,” Madanach said gently. “He’s doing all right, and we’re all very proud of him.”

“Father says he’s not disowning me,” Ulfric added, glancing shyly at Hoag to check this was still the case. “Not for falling in love and following my heart. I… am still the son of a Jarl of Skyrim, for what that’s worth these days.”

“Of course you are, lad!” Hoag cried, shifting nearer Ulfric and putting an arm round him, pulling him into a hug. Ulfric’s struggling with human emotions and how they worked was a problem he’d had all his life, but there was no doubt in Hoag’s mind his son definitely felt them. “We’re Nords, boy. We follow our hearts and tend to our loved ones, and you stopping an invasion I never wanted you to start in the first place because you held a child in your arms and realised the human cost is exactly that! You came back to yourself, boy. I can’t be angry at you for that. And you! Reach-King!” Hoag got up and walked round to stand behind them, one hand on Ulfric’s back and one on Madanach’s. 

“You gave me back my son,” Hoag gasped, pulling both men into a hug. “I can never repay you for that… but I will do what I can to keep your kingdom free. You have my word as a Jarl.”

“Thank you – what, really??” Madanach gasped. “You’ll side with us?”

“Yes,” Hoag said, without hesitation. “I’ll take your part with Istlod. Won’t be easy, but I’ll speak with him. If Ulfric will stand for what’s right regardless of the cost, how can I not do likewise, eh?”

Madanach and Ulfric both spontaneously hugged him back, neither having realised until that moment quite how worried they’d been. And then Ulfric sat up and nodded at Argis.

“Would there be any problems if I adopted Argis there as my heir?” Ulfric asked. “He can’t inherit the Mournful Throne, Reachmen won’t follow a Nord. But Eastmarch would.”

Hoag’s eyebrows shot up as he realised this had been the plan all along, Ulfric’s price for a marriage that couldn't give him heirs of blood. But Skyrim law didn’t discriminate between blood and adoptive kin.

“Aye lad, if we can get through this and you’re able to be Jarl after me in peace, you can name the lad your heir, if he’s willing and able.”

“YES!” Argis shouted both fists punching the air. “I will be the best Jarl ever, don’t you worry, sir!”

“So definitely willing then,” Delphine said with a smile, as the table collectively had to laugh at that.

“And I will make sure of the able,” Madanach promised. “You have my word.”

And so the tea descended into a far more comfortable celebration as Stormcloak and Reachman finally celebrated together, all worries cleared away, for now anyway.

It remained to be seen how the rest of Skyrim was going to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Balgruuf arriving, but it's not done yet and this seemed a nice place to leave things. After that, it'll be Delphine off to Riften.


End file.
